


Choose Love or Sympathy

by Kittypatch



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-up Pete, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Complicated Relationships, Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Platonic Joetrick, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Power Dynamics, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10038428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittypatch/pseuds/Kittypatch
Summary: College AU. Patrick had a tendency to be anxious and socially inept, but he would not allow his first time to be little more than a one night stand. Age is just a number... right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read tags for mild warnings. :)

The last place that Patrick wanted to spend his Friday night was in an art gallery. He didn't know anything about art, but he’d promise Joe he'd come, for solidarity's sake. Joe's girlfriend worked at the gallery, it was a big deal or something. 

Joe had gone somewhere with her, and Patrick was alone in a crowded room of arty types. Not the kids he shared a class with, but like, forty-something adults that actually bought the shit hung up on the wall. Patrick felt out of place with his green beanie pulled low over his hair, hands shoved into the linty pockets of his denim jacket.

Patrick stared up at the artwork in front of him. It was some type of oil based painting, with clumps of paint smeared over the canvas. It was abstract, mostly in blacks and reds. Patrick raised his hand absentmindedly, to feel the bumpy surface beneath his fingertips.

“You're not supposed to touch it.” Patrick hurried his hand back into his pocket again, turning to see a man approach. He was tall-ish, or at least taller than Patrick, and therefore _tall._ In reality he was little more than 5”7 but he had this whole dark look to him. Dark eyes, dark hair, black leather jacket that looked like it cost at least two months of Patrick’s rent.

“It doesn't say not to,” Patrick said, trying to calm himself down. He was a total loser, and he knew it was written all over his face. Being in a crowd was terrible, being spoken to by someone that was actually kind of hot was even worse.

“This isn't an interactive show. I'm sure the local preschool has some touchy-feely art if that's your thing.” Okay, so the hot guy was a douche. Patrick didn't like him already.

“I'm only here because my roommate’s girlfriend works here. I don't want to be.”

“Then leave,” the man laughed, flashing bright white teeth. Patrick felt all kinds of shitty inside, like he was being attacked for the dude's amusement. 

Patrick left not long after. He didn't like being made fun of, or laughed at. Joe always said he was too sensitive, but Patrick didn't see what was wrong in that. There was a jazz bar across the road and Patrick wavered nearby, listening to the music coming from inside. Patrick was nineteen, and he looked it. No way was he getting in.

It's not like he went home and sulked completely, but he did have an early night, headphones jammed into his ears wishing he had it in him to be the opposite of himself. He wanted to be cool and not awkward, with snappy one-liners that didn't sound overly defensive.

“Why are you in such a bad mood?” Joe asked on Sunday. Patrick had been working all day, getting told off for being so meticulous and slow with serving customers at the coffee shop. He'd come back to the apartment to find out they’d forgotten to pay their heating bill on time and the landlord had shut off the heat. Patrick was swaddled in three sweaters, a pair of gloves and a hat with flaps over his ears.

“I’m cold,” Patrick said. It was a cold October. Patrick wanted to be back in Glenview so bad; back in his mom's warm house where he didn't have to pay bills. “Bad day at work.”

“I’m working the restaurant tonight, but you should come hang out. It’s warmer and it’s company,” Joe said. He was a considerate friend when he wasn't forcing Patrick into socializing at art galleries.

“There was this guy at that art gallery on Friday,” Patrick said, by way of answering. He had his schoolwork laid out on the table, and a mug of soup curled into his gloved-hands. “He was laughing at me and it’s ruined my mood forever.”

“Was he hot?” Joe asked. He had this habit of dropping random guys he knew into the conversation, as if Patrick wanted to date one of his poli-sci friends. “Like, in your opinion.”

“Yeah,” Patrick admitted. “So of course that made me all flustered, but he was a dick and I was an idiot.”

Joe stared at Patrick thoughtfully, adjusting the knitted scarf around his neck. His girlfriend had made it for him and it had a ton of holes in it. The thought was there though, and Patrick thought it was cute that Joe continued to wear it despite its uselessness.

“I’m no doctor, but you have either insane levels of low self esteem or your anxiety is through the roof. I know someone that could get you some downers if you like.”

“Are they heading off to law school too?” Patrick asked, not taking Joe up on his offer, but also not offended either. He could never tell what was worse; anxiety or zero self worth. “It’s fine. It was inevitable, but it’s put me in a shitty mood all night.”

“Then that clearly means you need to come and eat slices of key lime pie all night,” Joe insisted. He worked at a restaurant that served dessert all night, a sweet pie bar. Patrick was a sucker for key lime pie and he hadn't eaten a decent meal in forever. His insides were made 50% of canned soup. 

The owners of the pie bar were sympathetic to poor college students, so they allowed Patrick to sit quietly in a back booth with a slice of pie and his school books laid out in front of him. He wasn’t studying, but rather watching Joe bounce around the restaurant, handing pie and shakes out to everyone.

“Why do you want to be a lawyer when you’re so good at this,” Patrick said, when Joe fell into the booth on his break with two mugs of black coffee and another slice of pie.

“Because lawyers get paid more than waiters.”

“But you wouldn't get free pie,” Patrick said, smiling. “And I wouldn't be able to sit in because I have nowhere else to go.”

Joe smiled, shrugging. “Just make the most of it.”

Of course Joe wanted to go onto a club afterward. They were both underage and Patrick looked it, but if he stuck close to Joe and his trusty fake ID he could sail by okay. It wasn't his scene, he never went to clubs normally, but at least he wouldn't have to talk to anyone.

Joe kept buying Patrick these weird fruity drinks with his fresh wages. They were alcoholic, but Patrick wouldn't have realized until the first time he got up to go find the bathroom. The room span and his skin felt like it was vibrating, overheated and raw. He’d kill Joe for getting him surreptitiously wasted.

The restroom was cooler, and the music faded to a blurry beat in the back room as Patrick used the bathroom. He splashed water on his face and looked at his blotchy face in the mirror's reflection. His eyesight was failing him in his drunken state and all he could see was a pink blurriness. He wanted to stay in there forever, or at least five more minutes, but there was a man staring at him in a way that made him want to leave.

“How much?” the man said, stepping into the way of the door when Patrick tried to leave. Patrick couldn't see properly, but he panicked immediately, stepping away.

“What?”

“How much?” there was a hand pushing against his shoulder and he stepped back, flat against the wall. His shoulder turned on the hand dryer and he flinched away. “Don't play dumb.”

“I think you’re mixing things up,” Patrick said, trying to laugh but his tongue felt too big for his mouth and the hand on his shoulder was squeezing too tight. “I'm not what you think.”

“You wanna bet?” there was a brief moment, when the hand dryer stopped whirring and Patrick’s vision slowly came back to him. The man was old, lines on his forehead and around his mouth. Gross. Patrick was a virgin, but he wouldn't sleep with him even at his most desperate. Unless he thought Patrick was a drug dealer, which was even worse. 

“I just came to take a piss,” Patrick said, desperately trying to find focus. He tried to wriggle away, but the hand around his arm was tight, starting to hurt. “Let me go, asshole.”

“You fucking heard him.” There was a scuffle, the hand trapping him to the wall finally unfurling and he stepped forward. Patrick watched the man fall to the floor as he was socked in the jaw. “Are you okay?”

Patrick blinked slowly, nodding his head when he realized he was being spoken to. He was pulled from the bathroom, before the man could get at them both. As he was directed back to the bar, his brain suddenly came back to him and he realized this guy was the douche at the art gallery in the expensive jacket and the dark hair.

“You were an ass to me!” Patrick said, ignoring how he had to be helped onto the stool. He wasn't sure if his legs were like jelly because of the cocktails or the situation he'd nearly found himself in.

“Dude, I just saved your fucking ass, literally.” The guy tapped his hand on the bar, and the barman nodded like he understood. He came back with two tumbler glasses of amber liquid. Patrick wasn't much of a drinker normally. “What's a kid like you doing in a place like this?”

“It's not illegal to attend a bar,” Patrick insisted. He grabbed the glass and threw it back, choking and spluttering as it burned the back of his throat.

“Are you legal?” the guy asked and honestly, Patrick wasn't entirely sure what he was asking.

“Technically I'm nineteen,” Patrick said, when his throat stopped burning and his head started to spin even more. The guy was staring like that made no sense, but he had his arm over the back of Patrick's stool. “I came here with my friend. I don't know where he is.”

“Your boyfriend?”

 _“No.”_ Patrick dropped his hand from where it was clutching at his own chest. “Joe is my best friend and roommate. He just got paid and he wanted to cheer me up, even though our heat has been cut off so--”

“He sounds like a good guy. You should go find him, let him know you're okay?”

“I could text him. I don't think I can move right now, my eyesight is bad at the best of times and I feel _very_ disoriented.”

“Text him. I'll buy you another drink, maybe something soft to pace yourself.” That sounded deeply concerning to one part of Patrick's brain, but he ignored it as he fished his phone from his back pocket. Patrick wasn't entirely sure what he ended up texting Joe, but he must have let him know something because Joe sent him a thumbs up and a _stay safe bro._

“Joe is a good guy,” Patrick said out loud. He put his phone on the bar in front of him, but the guy he was with picked it up and put it in Patrick's jacket.

“Don't leave your phone out like that. You don't get out much?”

“I get out just fine!” Patrick's defensiveness softened when he was drunk, but he was still feeling a little attacked. “I thought once I moved from the suburbs and into the city I'd found myself like they do in the movies, but I didn't.”

The man scoffed. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Dunno. I'm only nineteen.” Patrick sipped the fresh drink in front of him. It tasted sweet, but not alcoholic. The man was staring at him, warm eyes studying Patrick's pink face.

“I'm Pete, by the way.”

“Patrick, I guess.”

The rest of the night was even more of a blur, at least the part before he ended up at Pete’s. It wasn't so much the drink by that point, just the sheer fact that Patrick was at a bar flirting with a hot dude that was older, but not in a totally weird way.

“I don't even like you. You were mean to me at the art gallery,” Patrick said when they left. He was waving his fingers around and Pete was laughing, pulling him to join the line for a cab. “You embarrassed me.”

“You were wiping your grubby fingers all over my art.”

“Oh, you made it,” Patrick said, sounding surprised. He could hear people around them, but all he could see was Pete, who was, like, way out of his league, but he was fairly certain he was going home with him. “You don't look like an artist.”

“You don't look like a music student,” Pete teased. Patrick wasn't sure when he’d told him that, but his mouth had been running all night. He felt out of breath; out of his depth.

Patrick laughed along. “Everyone knows that.”

 

Patrick woke up with a start. The room he was in was a bright loft apartment, canvases strewed around the space, a small kitchen area visible from where he was sitting up in the bed. He rubbed at his eyes. He didn't really get hungover, but he felt tired and when he shifted, his entire bottom half ached.

“You’re still here.” Patrick dropped his hands from his eyes to see Pete staring at him from an armchair to the left of the room. He was sitting on the arm, staring at Patrick with a slice of toast in his mouth. “You’re not supposed to still be here.”

“Oh.” Patrick’s cheeks felt hot and he had the idea to scramble from the bed, only he then realized he was naked and Pete was staring. He held the covers up over his chest and leaned over to the side to grab at his glasses. “Where are my clothes?”

“Wherever we left them.” That wasn't helpful and Patrick almost wanted to panic-cry because he felt out of his depth and he was naked in a stranger's bed and even though he'd wanted it and liked it, it didn't sound like Pete was super into him now.

There was a sigh and Patrick heard the sound of floorboards creaking as Pete moved around the room, picking up clothes. When the bed sunk as Pete sat beside him, Patrick finally looked at him, trying to gain composure as he pulled last night's shirt over his head once Pete had handed it to him.

“You look a lot younger in daylight,” Pete said. He smelled like coffee and dry toast. He was shirtless, but he had jeans on, slung low on his hips. He had tattoos, nearly all of them black. Patrick felt so so out of depth that he just laughed.

“I promise I'm nineteen.”

“I’m not,” Pete admitted. Patrick tried a little bit of confidence on and stared at him. He didn't look old, but not really young either. Just like a regular guy. “I’m thirty five.”

“Oh.” Patrick paused. That wasn't bad was it? Plus it was legal, Patrick was legal. “At least you’re not forty. My mom’s forty-eight so it would be weird otherwise.”

“No, it isn't.” Pete’s laugh took them both by surprise. His hand moved to Patrick’s hairline and Patrick moved into it. He'd rather have Pete like this, over making him feel small and embarrassed again. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I dunno,” Patrick admitted. He’d lost count of the amount of times he’d told Pete the night before that it was his first time. It had slipped easy from his lips, between every kiss, like he was determined to use it for an excuse if he needed to. “I feel sore. Is that because I'm not used to it or because you have a big dick?”

“Both probably.” Even Pete was blushing now, red patches high on his cheeks. “Take some Advil. Have a hot bath and you’ll feel better.”

“I don't think hot water exists in my apartment,” Patrick answered thoughtfully. “I liked it here though. It's nice.”

“It's expensive,” Pete smiled at Patrick but then stood up. “I have to leave, so you need to get going.”

“Can I see you again?” Patrick asked. He was guessing it wouldn't hurt as much next time and well, he'd quite liked it anyway. Made him feel less like Patrick and more like someone else.

“That's not how one night stands work.” Pete was pulling on a t-shirt, black leather jacket and a pair of black boots, as Patrick worked his jeans up his legs under the covers. He hissed when he had to lift his hips, but he didn't want to seem too pathetic.

“Are you really gonna let my first time be reduced to a one night stand?” Patrick said. When he stood up things felt even weirder and it must've showed on his face.

“Your tenacity is sweet, but you need to leave.” Patrick nodded, licking at his dry lips.

“Okay,” Patrick said, swallowing to try and wet his throat. He wanted a gigantic drink of something. OJ maybe, or perhaps a vanilla shake with a raspberry ripple twist like they served in Joe's diner. Patrick was walked out of the apartment and down a corridor that was lined with artwork. Patrick refused to look at it in case he said something dumb about it again. 

“Be more careful in the bathroom of gay bars. You look like fresh meat,” Pete said, when they reached the bottom floor. He wasn't entirely sure where he was, but it was a nice part of the city.

“I didn't do anything wrong,” Patrick said, feeling a little like he was getting into trouble for something he couldn't help. “Wait, Joe took me to a gay bar?”

Pete burst out laughing. “Fuck. You didn't realize?”

“Too drunk to notice.” When they stepped outside it was icy cold. Even for October. Fall had gone, and Patrick was left with a biting ice nipping at his cheeks and bare hands. “Oh. I don't know where I am.”

Pete sighed, like this was all too much, but it was his fault for taking Patrick home with him. When he asked Patrick where he lived, and he got the mumbled answer,he took off his black jacket and handed it to Patrick, along with the change from his wallet.

“You can catch a bus ten minutes up the road, you'll find your way back from there.” He zipped the leather jacket up and Patrick stared up at him, in his dark face.

“Do you give all your one night stands expensive coats?”

“Nope, only the really annoying ones.” Pete gave a genuine smile and the corners of his eyes creased up. Patrick wanted to lean up and kiss him, but even he knew that would be incredibly stupid.

As expensive and nice as Pete's jacket was, it did little to stop to cold turning Patrick's cheeks to a raw red. The sleeves were a little long so he could tuck his hands up, but he didn't care. He was stuck in the dreaminess of the night before as he hiked to the bus stop.

 

The apartment was surprisingly warm by the time Patrick finally made his way inside. Joe must've paid the bill at last. He didn't really want to take Pete's jacket off because it was the first time any guy had ever shown interest in him, had given him something to wear. It smelled like him, like distant cologne and it was so lame, but Patrick was nineteen and he figured it was allowed.

He made his way to the bathroom immediately. They didn’t have a bathtub, but the water in the cubicle shower was running just a shade warmer than tepid. He hadn’t had a chance to really look at himself, having shoved his clothes on beneath Pete’s covers. He didn’t like the main frame of his build; too little and covered in too much puppy fat that should’ve left around six years ago.

Now though, he had tiny red marks over his thighs were Pete’s fingers had dug in. There was something sticky on the insides of his thighs as well. At first, he panicked, thinking he’d let Pete fuck him without a condom, even though he remembered watching Pete roll one on with ease. It was probably just lube, dried and flaking. Gross, but also new and exciting. It came off with the sudsy lemony shower wash. He touched himself briefly between his legs, brushing his thumb against where Pete had been. He had a sudden flash to how it felt when Pete first pushed inside, burning burning burning, but this flare of excitement in his chest, the way Pete had told him how good he felt. Patrick was feeling hot in the shower, hard too. At least on his own, there was no one to make fun of him.

Joe was watching _Buffy_ and eating boxed mac and cheese when Patrick had dried himself off and dressed in soft clothes. He gave Patrick a yellow smile, cheese spilling between his lips. Patrick flipped him off, but sat close beside him on the couch.

“You didn’t tell me it was a gay bar,” Patrick said slowly, eyes focusing on the screen. _Buffy_ wasn’t his thing, he didn’t buy that Joe was all that into it either, but his girlfriend had a _Buffy_ pin tacked to her bag so maybe he had ulterior motives.

“The fact you didn’t realize is fucking hilarious,” Joe said. “So, I guess you finally got something good?”

“Yeah.” Patrick couldn’t help the smile that creeped onto his lips. “Well, first this guy in the bathroom tried to pay me for sex or drugs and…”

“What?”

“No, it was fine, because this dude beat him up and then bought me drinks and…”

“Oh, God. I fucking leave you alone for five minutes!”

“No, Joe. Honestly, it was like super ironic because the guy that stopped him was the guy that had originally ruined my weekend at the art gallery.” Patrick was laughing as Joe tried to catch up with the story, tongue digging into the side of his cheek. “He’s an artist. He’s got this fucking awesome loft apartment.”

Joe was nodding along until the last part, then his eyes squeezed shut. “What’s the catch?”

“Why would there be a catch?”

“Dude, I’m applying to law school after college, it’s my job to pick out loopholes and shit.” Joe waved his fork around, congealed strands of cheese dangling off the edge. Patrick moved out of its aim, shrugging his shoulder.

“He’s older, I guess,” Patrick shrugged. “But he doesn’t look it. Oh, and he said it was a one night stand, but he gave me his jacket because he made me walk in the freezing cold to the closest station, and ten bucks in change, so obviously, I’m gonna have to return them.”

“Dude, that means he totally wants to see you again.”

Patrick scrunched his nose up. “Does it?”

“Well it would in the movies. You should go there in the jacket, wearing something that he’d like and talk about art or some shit. Make him want to sleep with you again and bingo, he’ll realize he wants to bang you some more.”

“He says I’m too young and I’m probably not his type when he’s sober,” Patrick said. He’d rather talk himself out of the situation than deal with Pete saying anything shitty to his face. “Plus, I don’t think I like his art. It’s all weird abstract and clunky. Makes it sound like techno in my head.”

“Yeah, I don’t get what you’re saying with the last part, but fuck the noise with the first thing. You are probably totally his type. I saw a ton of older dudes with young guys last night, you’re probably like… a twink or something, I dunno.” Joe’s skin was pinking up like this was kind of awkward for him. “While you were busy last night I made friends with these girls, or women, really. One of them just passed the bar and we got talking but anyway, they’re lesbians so I can ask them.”

“Ask them what?”

“Whether you’re a twink.”

“I think you’re supposed to be skinny to come under that word. I’m not really clued up on it either.” Patrick had signed up to all the LGBT groups during freshman week, but then he’d turned up and been paralyzed with whatever it was that fucked up his ability to interact like a normal person. He'd moved to college with Joe anyway, and hadn't felt the need to make many other friends. “I don’t think it matters, but at least I’m not a virgin anymore.”

Joe didn’t speak for a few seconds, before he suddenly burst out. “Okay, so what was it like?”

Patrick shrugged his response, all coy, but only because he didn’t know how to explain anything.

 

There was this kid that always sat in front of Patrick during class. He dyed his hair so often that his scalp was always showing raw and pink. This time his neck was red, matching the fire-truck red of his hair. Patrick didn’t get it, but he’d rather stare at that than listen to the professor. He was all over the production side and he got theory on a basic level, but this was the worst part of a Thursday.

He was working that afternoon and he walked through the record store, desperate to see what new shit they’d gotten in. It was dangerous for him, working in a record store. Half his wages went back into the damn place.

It wasn’t even like he worked directly in the store though. Right at the back they had this tiny little coffee shop that sold sticky pastries, cakes and coffee and that’s where he was, serving, cleaning up, doing everything he could to be first in line for a job in the actual store. It was never very busy so Patrick spent most of his time staring into space, listening to the music that was playing a little too quiet for his liking.

There was this one guy that took forever to order something. Skinny, older than Patrick, but he squinted at the blackboard behind Patrick as if he needed glasses to read the large printed writing.

“Do you do cinnamon flavorings?”

“In a few weeks, yes. It's a seasonal flavoring,” Patrick answered softly, waiting for the man to order.

“I’m not looking to order in a few weeks, I'm here now.” Patrick felt himself turn red, like he did every time he fucked something up socially.

“We have vanilla, hazelnut, toffee,” Patrick said coolly. He hated this guy already, in his crappy metal shirt and terrible facial hair. The man settled on something basic in the end, waving his card between two fingers. Patrick nodded, putting it through the register before the guy took a seat and made quick work of it. The guy didn't leave a tip, but Patrick hadn't expected anything else.

By the time he was back at the apartment he just wanted to plug into his keyboard and get back to music. He wasn't a brilliant singer, or at least he didn't think so, and he wasn’t amazing with the keyboard like some of the people in his class, but he knew the basics and it was fun taking what he recorded on that and fiddling around with it on the computer. He had a basic song by the end of a two hour session and by the time he pulled out his headphones and lay flat on the bed he was feeling better, a lot more relaxed.

He must have napped for what was two hours because when he woke up he could hear that Joe was back from the library and was banging around. He stood up, stretching slightly and shuffled his way into the main part of the apartment.

“You are so noisy,” Patrick said, seeing that Joe had his boring, intelligent books laid out on the coffee table and was in the middle of highlighting to death one particular chapter.

“Sorry. I was brainstorming aloud,” Joe said, dropping the pen to the table and staring up at Patrick. “Good day?”

“No.” Patrick fell onto the couch. “School was boring and I got stuck serving snooty assholes in the cafe.”

“Well that sucks,” Joe said unhelpfully, but then he smiled bright. “But I have a great plan for you. About your, you know, guy.”

Patrick shrugged his shoulder. “He’s probably forgotten all about me.”

“I doubt it, not when you have his super sexy leather jacket, right?” Joe winked and then jumped up. Patrick supposed spending all day studying in the college library meant Joe had a lot of wired energy to burn off. “I was speaking to my girl earlier and I asked her what color looks good on you.”

“Why would you do that?” Patrick asked, already feeling nervous about where this was heading.

“Because you try to hide yourself in clothes, but that's the only thing I know about it. I know what looks bad on you, but not good. So I asked her.”

“What did she say?” Patrick said curiously. He did like her when she wasn't forcing him to art galleries, she never tried to force herself into their apartment just because she was dating Joe and they were quiet when they had sex.

“Blue. Brings out the red in your hair or something,” Joe waved a hand like he didn't get it. Patrick touched his head, unsure if it was a good thing. “I dunno, but I'm sure you must have some blue.”

“Yeah. I have blue jeans.” Patrick was wearing them on the night he met Pete, well technically the _second_ one, the one where they went back to his place and had sex.

“Nah, I was aggressively informed that you have to wear your black jeans ‘cause they’re tight.” Joe shrugged, looking at Patrick like he hoped he understood. He thinks he did, but then, that just made him queasy.

“I have a blue cardigan,” Patrick said. “And some sweaters, but part of me feels like that’s a no-no.”

“Let me think.” Joe squeezed his eyes shut as they stood in the middle of the apartment. Patrick stared at him nervously. When his eyes opened he had a winning smile and Patrick just laughed awkwardly, not knowing what else to do. “I was thinking like, if I wanted to date you what would I want to see you in, and because you don’t have a great fashion finesse unlike myself, I thought about picturing you in _my_ clothes.”

“I don't know…”

“Come on.” Joe pulled on Patrick's wrist, and dragged him toward his room. Joe was actually a really neat person so it was strange stepping into a bedroom that was impeccable, unlike Patrick’s, which was a total mess. “You’d look super cute in this. And I'm telling you that as a guy that has no idea.”

“Do I do it tonight? Isn't it a bit...short notice. He might not be in,” Patrick said as he caught the denim shirt that was thrown at him. He frowned down at it. This wasn't the life he was used to leading, chasing men - older men - into wanting to date him.

“How old is he?” Joe hummed, nodding his head in approval at the shirt once more.

“Thirty-five,” Patrick answered truthfully. It was older, but like, he was still five years off forty and that totally would have been his cut off.

“Well then I’d say he'd definitely be in. It’s a Thursday, he’s thirty-five. He's probably home right now in his pj's watching TV.” Patrick wasn't sure how Joe would even know that, but he was willing to take his word for it. He was going to law school after college, and so was way smarter than Patrick anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick fixated on the fact that his jeans were the only item of clothes that were actually his. Joe's denim shirt fit fine, if a little long, and he had Pete's jacket on over the top. He felt kind of trendy. Not like himself at all. But then, maybe he was better in other people's clothes. 

Nerves fluttered inside Patrick as he made his way back over to Pete’s side of town. He thought up a million ways it could all go wrong, all the ways he could be rejected. He could only make it up, didn’t really have any situations to compare it to.

“The worst he can do is say no,” Patrick said beneath his breath. And if he did, well Patrick could just pawn the jacket and pay two month's rent with it. No big deal. Patrick could do this.

The part of the city that Pete lived in felt like a whole different version of Chicago. Trendier for the sake of it rather than populated with insufferable broke college students. Pete’s top floor apartment was hard to find at first, mostly because it all looked so industrial. He found it eventually, opposite a swanky wine bar.

There was only one buzzer and no numbers, so Patrick took a deep breath and just went for it, pressing his fingers against the button and chewing on his lip nervously. The door unlocked for him without Pete bothering to speak, but at least it meant that Patrick at least got to the interior door before he was turned away.

Patrick had left his glasses at home because he thought they made him look too geeky, but now he had nothing to fiddle around with, aside from the silver zippers on the leather jacket. He moved it up and down the zipper tread, as he waited for Pete to answer the door.

When Pete did finally pull open his door there was a few seconds where he looked annoyed at being disturbed, confused about who Patrick was, before he finally figured it all out. Then he just looked amused. 

“Didn't I send you on your merry way last week?”

“Yeah.” Patrick laughed breathlessly, still fiddling with the zipper. “But I needed to return your coat.”

“No you didn't,” Pete said, looking Patrick up and down. “It looks good on you.”

“Well, uh thanks.” Patrick felt himself growing hot again. “Wait, I also have the five bucks. Or ten. I owe you that.” Patrick patted down his pants, grabbing his wallet. He knew he had it exact because he’d counted it out about ten times on the ride over, just to distract his nerves.

“I’m not taking money off a broke college student,” Pete said. He rubbed his forehead, but then opened his door wider. “You better come in.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Patrick said, shoving his wallet back in his pocket and walking into the apartment. It was one large rectangle really, with warm yellow lighting from the lamps from inside and out. Patrick stood in the middle of the apartment, between the bed and kitchen and smiled as Pete approached.

“A word of advice, kid,” Pete started to say. “A one night stand means you don’t come back for seconds.”

“No, I know.” Patrick faltered, biting his lip. He was fairly certain he was getting mixed signals rather than just negative, but a brave face never came easy to him. “Well, I can leave, but you did just invite me in rather than closing the door on me.”

“This is why you don’t sleep with teenagers, Pete,” he muttered to himself. Patrick just raised his eyebrows, but kept any words to himself. “You shouldn’t be here, Patrick.”

“Then tell me to leave.” Fuck yeah, Patrick felt so cool right then. Joe would be seriously impressed.

“I don’t wanna, unfortunately.” Pete rubbed at his hair, scruffing it up. “Come on, I’ll make us something to eat. Any requests?” Patrick followed Pete over to the sleek kitchen area, all shiny black tiles and built in lights.

“I’m a vegetarian.” Patrick offered. Pete gave him a curious look but he shrugged. “Once you stop it’s kinda easy. Plus, cheaper.”

“Right. I’ll do a stir fry.”

“Make it hot,” Patrick said, feeling awkward when Pete raised his eyebrow at him. “I like spicy food.” 

“I can do that.” Pete smiled at Patrick and it was the first time that Patrick really felt welcome. 

Pete had a dining table that Patrick hadn't noticed before, wedged into the corner behind an easel. It was really just a piece of expensive granite, propped up on a ton of books each side, but it was pretty cool. They ate the stir fry and Patrick was kind of impressed. Pete didn't look like he’d be a very good cook. Patrick ate the food carefully, noting that every time he looked up, Pete was staring at him. 

“You keep staring,” Patrick said softly. “Why?”

“So you show up in my apartment and you don't want to be looked at?” Pete asked. His fork cluttered into the base of his plate, and he leaned back against his chair, like he was sizing Patrick up. 

“I dunno. I just liked it before, being with you, but it feels weird. Like I’m out of my depth.”

“That’s ‘cause you are,” Pete laughed, grabbing their plates and taking them over to the kitchen again. “You don't have to panic, okay? I'm happy you're here.”

“Okay.” Patrick nodded. 

They ended up talking all night, in front of Pete's giant window. There was a TV in front of it, but the view outside was so distracting, with the lights and the buildings. Patrick sat with his feet tucked under him, finally feeling like he could relax. 

“I find it hard to be with people normally. I'm just kind of a bag of nerves all the time,” Patrick admitted. He'd finally removed Pete's coat but now he was fiddling with the edge of the denim shirt, rolling the corner until it slowly unfurled. “Joe, my roommate...Well we don't know if it's low self esteem or anxiety. I don't think it matters either way.”

“If it's self esteem then it gets better as you get older, “ Pete said, smiling softly without any hint of laughter. “If it's anxiety, I gotta say you're fucked but you're in good company.”

Patrick's eyes narrowed. “You can't have anxiety! You seem so, I dunno, cool.”

“That's because I'm medicated, but it's fine. It's cool. You got social anxiety _and_ shitty self esteem. It's both, but that's okay.”

“It does feel okay.” Patrick frowned down at himself. “With you. I dunno.”

“Oh God. Don't get creepy,” Pete said, sounding terrified that Patrick was going to say he was in love with him. 

“I didn't mean it like that! Just, I don't mess my words up anywhere near the amount I do with others. Plus there's no guys I like at college. I've looked before and Joe is _always_ suggesting people, but I guess I'm just picky.”

“It's good to be picky. I wish I'd been picky at your age, Pete joked. “I got myself into all kinds of trouble, anything you could think of.”

“And now?” 

“Now what?” Pete smiled, and Patrick gave him a look of annoyance, before he shrugged. “I’m an artist, I own a bar.”

“Ooh. Can I come to your bar?” Okay, that was _seriously_ cool.

“Nope.”

Patrick pulled a face, knowing why. Though he still asked. “Why not?”

“Because unlike the bar we met at, I run a strict no under 21’s policy. No underage kids floating about, getting into trouble they can't handle.” Pete gave Patrick a curious look, like he was waiting for him to fight back before he shrugged.

“I got nearly two years until I'm legal to drink.” He felt young then, underage and sitting on the couch of a much older guy, who ran his own bar. “Do you think that's a bad thing?”

“For you to be here, yeah. But that doesn't mean I'm going to make you leave, or stop anything happening. Just telling myself to be cautiously aware.” Pete lifted his hand to stroke Patrick's hair gently. Patrick let it happen, not feeling panicked or nervous really. “And you should be too.”

“Okay.” Patrick nodded his head, but he didn't have time to do anything else because Pete was leaning in and they started to kiss. Pete wasn't Patrick’s first kiss, but it had been a while. Patrick opened his mouth for Pete's tongue and it was like this crazy explosion inside his head. Just suddenly, now that he was sober, realizing that he wanted nothing more than Pete. Pete's mouth on him, his hands. Just anything that he could think of. 

At first Pete's hand was on the a back of his neck, dominant maybe, or at least Patrick was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to move if he wanted to. It made his belly flash with something, but it soon went away when Pete's hand moved to Patrick’s stomach. Patrick wasn't a total loser, but he wasn't Pete and as he was sober, he still had his inhibitions about him. He tried to subtly suck his stomach in, but Pete laughed against his mouth.

“Don't do that” Pete said. “I don't care.” Patrick figured that meant Pete wasn't, like, into it, but it didn't put him off so he tried to forget about it. It was easy falling back into Pete's mouth again, feeling himself swaying under Pete's guidance. He was pressed down on his back before he knew it, sinking into the soft leather of the couch. Pete didn't ask if Patrick was okay or anything, but he'd stop if he wanted him to. Patrick could see in the way Pete's eyes were moving over Patrick's face, like he was trying to read something there.

They were kissing again, as Patrick felt Pete thumb open the button of his jeans. Patrick could feel his heart beating fast in anticipation, with Pete's weight on top of him and his hand pressing into the fly of Patrick’s jeans. Something came over Patrick slightly, or under really. Like he’d slipped under the surface of a hot bath and all he could hear was the sound of his own heart, and the heavy touch of Pete’s hands, stroking him slowly. 

Then it just stopped and Patrick realized it was because Pete had stopped touching his dick and was trying to pull Patrick's jeans down. They were tight and well, _very_ tight. Patrick figured he was probably already pink from all the making out, but he felt himself grow even hotter as he lifted his hips and helped Pete drag the pants down over his thighs.

“I should probably size up,” Patrick said regrettably, once his jeans were tucked safely beneath his knees.

“Not at all. Skinny jeans aren't practical for sex and you have a great body. Amazing thighs, for serious.” It still felt like something shameful, but Patrick watched Pete's dark hand squeeze at his leg, pressing deep into soft flesh before letting go. Patrick wanted to say something else, but Pete was pushing him down again. 

Patrick didn't get back to the place he'd gone to moments before. Pete sucked him off, hard and quick. And it was amazing and Patrick came with his hips raised and his mouth open and Pete swallowed it down with ease before pulling off. He didn't kiss Patrick, but headed immediately to the kitchen for a bottle of water. 

“No one's ever done that before!” Patrick said, trying to pull his pants back up as Pete headed over again. It felt so much better with Pete than it did on his own, with his hand and occasionally the toy he hid in the base of his mattress. 

“I guessed not,” Pete said. He was smiling, but not like he was teasing. He came back to the couch and sat on the edge, stroking Patrick's hair. 

“Don't you want me to return the favor?” the few times men had ever chatted to Patrick, it was to tell him he had a nice mouth. The implications had always been obvious. He presumed Pete would want the same.

“That would be good, but not tonight. You should be able to feel good for tonight with no expectations.”

“You look like a bad guy but you're not,” Patrick informed him, smiling when Pete broke into a laugh.

“I wouldn't be so sure. You do come out with some crazy shit though.” There were more words on the tip of Pete’s tongue, he could tell, but he didn’t say anything. Just watched Pete watch him some more.

Patrick ended up in Pete’s bed somehow. He’d kind of gone all dopey and soft after the blowjob. It was probably super embarrassing but he couldn’t bring it in himself to care. He wasn’t in the clothes he arrived in, but a t-shirt of Pete’s. It was a metal band that wasn’t to Patrick’s taste but he stroked over the faded logo as Pete climbed from the bed. He was still dressed; Patrick hadn’t been able to undress him at all.

“Where are you going?” Patrick said, rolling onto his stomach and watching Pete walk over to one of the many easels in the place.

“Go to sleep, Patrick. You’re tired,” Pete said. Patrick frowned in confusion, half his face sinking into pillows that smelled like Pete. Pete looked over at Patrick and laughed again, shrugging his shoulder. “I don’t do sleep, I like to paint at nights when I’m not at the bar.”

“You have to sleep at some point,” Patrick said, but he didn’t care to argue and rolled over onto his back again. He fell asleep quickly, not stirring until well into the early hours when he felt the bed shift suddenly and arms wrap around him from behind.

Of course Pete was up by the time Patrick stirred, but he didn’t hurry Patrick out of the door and instead showed him to the shower instead. It was way swankier than anything Patrick had ever used. Instead of being wedged tight into a tiny cubicle there was open space for him to move around as the water streamed down. It was nice, more than nice, it was amazing. He didn’t really want to get out, but he eventually did, climbing into the previous night’s clothes, as he rinsed his mouth with a stolen swill of mouthwash.

Pete had coffee in the pot when Patrick headed back into the room. Patrick eyed the canvas he’d been working on through the night. It was okay, Patrick supposed, but he lied and said he liked it because he wanted to be polite.

“I suppose I should take you out on an actual date at some point,” Pete said casually, handing Patrick a mug of black coffee. Luckily, Patrick wasn’t wearing his glasses, or they’d have steamed up and he’d have looked like an idiot again. Somehow, he couldn’t help the smile that picked up at corners of his lips.

“You’re not kicking me out this time?”

“That didn’t work out too well, did it?” Pete shrugged, but then took a too-hot sip of his drink, squeezing his face up as it burned his throat. Patrick was glad to not be the only idiot. “I’m not gonna sugar-coat things and act like this is a good idea, because I really don’t think it is, but you did make my Thursday night a lot more interesting. We’ll see how it goes.”

They exchanged numbers and Patrick was so tempted to ask Pete what happened to him the night before, why Patrick had gone all weird right before the blow job, but he’d probably be laughed at, or worse, Pete would take away the offer of dating Patrick. 

Pete kissed Patrick on the mouth before he left and that was fun. It made Patrick feel like it was real, like they were in a relationship of some sort. He got to wear Pete's coat again, and this time was told to keep it.

 

Patrick only had time to go home and quickly change before he had to head to his shift at work. There was this hipster book club on Friday afternoons and Patrick spent the majority of the time making up custom smoothies for them, because his boss said they paid good money. Patrick didn't mind as much as normal, didn't feel as awkward as he usually did because he was thinking about Pete. 

The hipsters today were talking music instead and Patrick listened from behind the counter, cleaning up the blender that had gotten overworked as it always did on a Friday. He so badly wanted to interrupt them because they were talking Bowie and no one knew him like Patrick did, not musically. Low was straight up his best album but of course they liked Aladdin Sane. Of course.

They only had a few stragglers after the book club left, but Patrick preferred bored to busy; mostly he served the record store workers on their break and a few young mom's seeking privacy at the back to feed their babies. His mom called him as he walked to the station. He was eating a leftover pastry as he listened to her talk, filling him in with gossip that he didn't care about, but made the right noises to. She told him to do his laundry tonight because he probably hadn't done it all semester. She had a point, and he could drag Joe to the laundromat with him anyway. 

“So if you didn't have sex, then what did you do last night?” Joe asked later, as they sat in front of their spinning laundry. Joe had been pulling long shifts in the library, researching for a paper, but he'd been smirking at Patrick on the walk over.

“I thought we would too, but then after he blew me, he sorta put me to bed. So I slept, but he didn't because he doesn't sleep at night. He paints.”

“He paints.” Joe repeated back, before rolling his eyes. “Christ.”

“What?” Patrick laughed, but he understood it did sound pretty silly out loud. “Something weird did happen though.” He lowered his voice and leaned into Joe, trying to find the words to explain. “When we made out it was like… I dunno. I was under a spell, his spell. Has that ever happened to you?”

Joe pondered thoughtfully before shaking his head. “I guess sometimes when I'm with a lady and she's looking at me all sweetly, I'm fairly certain I'd do anything for her, but that's just the thought of sex, I think.”

“I don't think it was that,” Patrick explained. He remembered how the feeling broke when his jeans got jammed near his thighs. “I got distracted and it fell away and didn't come back during the dick sucking.”

“Weird. Was it a good feeling?”

“I think it might have been, if I'd have kept it up. Kinda felt like I was under his control but in a good way. Do you think it's because he's older? Not in a creepy way, but in a good way?”

“The age gap is kinda creepy,” Joe admitted. “Just keep your wits about you. Don't let him force you into doing anything you don't want to.”

“I don't think he would,” Patrick said softly. “He's not a fan of the age gap either.”

“But you're just so fucking insatiable, right?” Joe teased, slinging an arm over Patrick’s shoulder. “Always knew that about you.”

 

Patrick didn't text Pete at all. He felt like he'd done the scary part by turning up to Pete's apartment without any awareness. He didn't want to do _all_ the chasing. So he tried to get back to how life was before Pete. A few days passed. He went to work and he went to college. They had a group assignment and Patrick sat uncomfortably with who he'd been grouped with. They were all bickering about what they wanted to do. Patrick could go with whatever.

Then he'd go to the pie bar and smile and small talk with the owners as Joe worked. Patrick found the cool blue walls calming, even as he stared down at his half-eaten pie. His phone buzzed by the side of him and he looked down, shifting his glasses up his nose.

_Date night on Friday. I'll pick you up at eight._

There was no other details, but Patrick's stomach suddenly flipped at the thought. He quickly sent Pete a text with his address, but his mood was lifted and he quickly finished his pie, smiling to himself.

 

Joe was still fixated on what they'd spoken about as Patrick got ready for the date that Friday. He watched Patrick frown at himself in the mirror, hand in a bowl of two day-old chips. 

“I'm just saying if you come over all dizzy again just make an excuse and I'll come get you.”

“I'll be fine,” Patrick said, looking at his friend through the mirror. “Plus it wasn't dizziness, it was actually super serene.”

“Go have super duper serene sex with some old dude then,” Joe said good-naturedly, though his eyes were still serious. “But call me if you need to.”

“I won’t need to, but I will,” Patrick said, looking himself over again. He looked okay, he thought. All in his own clothes this time. Black jeans, red shirt, denim jacket. He looked alright, not like he was trying as hard as last time. Patrick would never be cool, but cooler than usual would be enough.

Pete's car was a small convertible. It was almost modest, like the rest of his possessions. He didn't say it out loud, just smiled at Pete and waved like an idiot. Pete waved back, laughing as Patrick belted up.

“Hi” Patrick said, when Pete started the engine.

“Hi,” Pete responded. “You look nice.”

“Thanks, I guess. So do you.” Pete wore a lot of black. It matched the tattoos beneath the layers of darkness. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere to eat. You got any preferences?” Pete pulled out from the sidewalk, dragging to a quick stop as they immediately hit a stoplight. 

Patrick shrugged, looking at the fancy dashboard. “Somewhere that does decent veggie stuff. I don’t know. I like spicy food.”

“I like curries. I know an Indian place you’ll like,” Pete said. He looked Patrick up and down as they waited in traffic. “I was surprised I didn't get any neurotic texts from you after exchanging numbers. Step two of stalking behavior, right?”

“I'm not a stalker!” Pete shouldn't have taken Patrick back to his place that first time otherwise, or given him his jacket to wear. “Figured I'd let you do the chasing for once.”

“Fair enough,” Pete shrugged, like that was a fair assessment. 

The restaurant was decorated in dark reds and gold. There were candles on all the tables and they passed a variety of couples on the way to a back corner. Patrick hadn't ever been on a date before. Not one that mattered. 

“I presume you're paying because I can't afford this,” Patrick said. The price was high, but it was all making Patrick salivate slightly.

“I ask you out, only fair that I pay for it.” They went back to staring at the menus for a while, until the waiter came over and asked for their drinks. Patrick didn't have a chance to fake anything because Pete ordered them both two cold beers.

“You're buying me drinks but you won't let me go to your bar?” Patrick said, but Pete just shrugged coolly.

“Somehow buying you alcohol beats ordering you a Coke float. I don't want to be reminded of your age if I can help it.”

“Most people in your situation would just say age is a number,” Patrick said, but then he was distracted by the menu once more. Once he was rich, or when Joe had passed the bar and had money, they'd have to go back and order the entire menu. 

Pete didn't look up as he answered. “You don’t know that.”

“I don't think you care as much as you say you do,” Patrick said, once they'd ordered. He'd picked a hot vegetable curry and Pete went for a chicken one. Patrick tried the beer, but he didn't like it so he just sipped cautiously as he bugged Pete some more.

“And how did you reach that decision?” Pete asked. He had an amused look on his face, dark eyes flickering against the orange candle flame. 

“If you were against it, you wouldn't take me out to fancy restaurants or let me hang out at your place.”

“I don't have a huge issue with your age as a whole,” Pete admitted. “But that's because I'm an asshole . I just know that one day you're gonna be married to some cute dude with a proper job and a couple of kids and you're gonna realize that sleeping with an older guy when you were nineteen really fucked things up. He'll put his arm over you and tell you that I was taking advantage of your naivete and that I caused the issues you have to that day.”

Patrick wasn't so sure. “That husband sounds like the douche, I bet he's halfway to blame for any problems I have.” 

“Exactly, but that's because your choice in men is so terrible. Stemming from dating a guy nearly twenty years older when you were in college.” Pete leaned his elbows on the table and smiled at Patrick sadly. “That's why I have an issue with this.”

“But it's my choice to be here. And I like you when I never like anyone. So I think you should just get over it.” Patrick tried to take another swig of beer and swallow it down carefree, but it was still gross and he couldn't stop his face creasing up with disgust. Pete laughed though, and it lightened the mood.

Things got better when the food arrived. Patrick was so excited he _loved_ food like this, but he never got to have it normally because they were poor and most of their diet was free pie from Joe's work, or cheap pizza that tasted of melted plastic. Patrick almost rubbed his hands together with glee, but that would be super weird and embarrassing. He'd already reached that quota after coughing the beer all over the table.

So he just dived in and they didn't talk for a while. It was nice and Patrick felt like an almost-adult rather than a failing excuse for a student. He was on a hot date eating hot food with a hot guy. It wasn't his life normally, but now it was.

“I don't know anything about you, though,” Patrick said, dropping his fork into the plate. “Tell me something about yourself. I don't know anything except you're an artist and you own a bar.”

“Well I own a bar, that's where I make most of my money. I paint but… I can get my shit into a few galleries and exhibitions, but no one is really buying that shit.”

“But your apartment...it must cost a lot. You have money, like, I can tell. You have the kind of apartment that looks like it is cheap but isn't. You know, it's not very cozy?”

“Isn't it?” Pete laughed. “I mostly use it as a studio, I guess. I eat and paint, fight insomnia and occasionally sleep, but I'm at the bar most nights. It keeps me busy.”

Patrick tried a different angle. “Is it a good bar?”

“Uh, I think so. I co-own it, so it's hard to get it exactly how I want, but it turns over good profit, it's made its way onto a couple of top-ten lists of Chicago bars.” So maybe he really was successful. That made him seem even further out of Patrick's depth.

“Is it a gay bar?”

“Nope. But a lot of the people that go are LGBT. Anymore questions?”

“Maybe, I'm not sure.” Patrick paused, just long enough to watch Pete take another sip of his drink. 

“Can I ask you questions now? While you think some more,” he asked and Patrick nodded. He sort of liked Pete staring at him intensely, but he hated it too. “Are you out to everyone?”

“I mean, I don't wave a banner over my head, but yeah people know if they ask. I came out to my parents when I was fifteen and they were fine with it. My brother and sister are both super academic with tight jobs and boring spouses, at least on my sister’s part. My brother always falls for married women, _but_ I just mean that I didn't ever feel pressure from them to fit in.”

“You’re the youngest?” Pete asked and when Patrick nodded, he laughed. “Well, that explains it. No pressure on you to succeed when your siblings already have.”

“Um well , I guess.” Patrick didn't think it was as simple as that, and presumed having liberal parents helped a lot, but he didn't say anything. “Was it not like that for you?”

“Not really. I was the oldest, it was a long-ass time ago, but we get along okay now. They weren’t the best parents, but I was an awful kid to raise,” Pete laughed again, but Patrick did not. He didn't know what to say.

“I was a good kid. Boring. I think I still am,” Patrick admitted. He was so boring he hardly ever got grounded.

“You're not boring,” Pete insisted, “Believe me.”

The date hadn't been the best ever because Patrick had spent the first part trying to convince Pete that even being there was a good thing, but by the time they left the restaurant it had got significantly better. 

They walked the streets for a while. Patrick didn't know why, but then again, he didn't ask. He didn't mind either, because Pete was focusing on him and laughing with him and it made him feel good inside. Being invisible had always been his preference in life, but not right now. Not in the moment with Pete.

“Have you been in love before?” Patrick asked, when they’d done a circle of the street and were back at Pete's car. His toes curled in, trying to feel themselves in the cold dampness of his shoes. “I haven’t.”

“Sometimes,” Pete admitted cautiously, like he was worried where Patrick was going with it. “More when I was younger. I think I always liked the idea of it more than the feeling.”

“Oh I don't know what that means!” Patrick laughed, grateful when Pete unlocked the car and let them inside. “I always figure I'll fall in love one day, but I can't imagine someone falling in love with me.”

“Yikes.” Pete muttered, turning the lights on, but Patrick shook his head.

“I don't mean it in a bad self esteem way, at least I don't mean it to. I just can't ever imagine someone actually caring about the shit that comes out of my mouth or the fact that sometimes I can lose myself in music so much I don't wanna talk. No one finds that fascinating, they find it weird.”

“Maybe. I think that the thing about love though, it's about quirks and loving people for the weird shit,” Pete said, driving them off. “Do you want me to drop you home or are you coming back with me?”

“What do you think?”


	3. Chapter 3

The third time Patrick ended up at Pete's apartment was his favorite. There was no nerves of anticipation like before, nor was he drunk and barely able to remember. This time he had full feeling as Pete's hands worked on opening his shirt, mouth pressing to his collarbone. They were sitting on the neatly made bed and Patrick was losing himself again, as Pete's hands moved to pull Patrick's shirt from his shoulders, holding him in place. Patrick didn't like to be looked at, especially shirtless, but he did like that it was Pete. And he liked the firmness of his hands, holding him in place. 

Patrick licked his lips as he was pushed down trying not to go so fucking weird. His heart was beating fast, but it went against how Pete was moving his hands so slowly. 

“You know, I think you offered to do something last time, I'm gonna take you up on it.” It took Patrick a few seconds to work out what Pete was saying before he understood. 

“Oh yeah. I want to. Like _serious._ ” Patrick sat up, nearly bumping heads with Pete. 

“You never done it before?” Pete asked, but he shook his head. There'd been a chance once before, but things hadn't gone to plan. Patrick didn't like to think about it.

“No, but I know how it's done.” Patrick had seen like, a ton of porn, and Pete had sucked him off pretty well. “Just don't laugh if I do it wrong.”

“It’s hard to do it wrong,” Pete said, but he was pushing Patrick to lay back on the bed again. Patrick went down, confused when Pete started plumping the pillow so Patrick’s neck was propped up. Shouldn't Patrick be worming down between Pete's legs? 

Pete's dick was big. Patrick remembered vaguely from last time, giggling and laughing and wondering how it would fit. He remembered how sore he felt afterward, and that he'd actually liked the feeling, like a physical and constant memory. But Pete's dick was in front of him now, Pete's hand working over it. He looked Patrick up and down as he jacked off, soft and topless. But it seemed to do the job because he was getting harder. 

“You know I'll stop if you want,” Pete said, but then he was kneeling by Patrick’s head and his dick was pressing between Patrick’s lips. It was surreal at first, having Pete's dick fill his mouth up. It slid along his tongue, stopping before it hit the back of his throat. Pete took Patrick’s hand and sort of molded it along the base of his dick, the part that he couldn't ft in his mouth. Then he adjusted, moved his hand to the back of Patrick’s head and helped move his head back and forward.

The weirdest thing was that Patrick wasn't even really doing any of the work. He was laying there with his mouth stretched wide, saliva slick and dribbling with Pete moving his dick in and out of Patrick’s mouth. He kept making these funny noises too, sort of moans as he breathed through his nose. His eyes kept closing even though he wanted to stare at Pete. He wanted to be able to look at Pete and watch the way he was getting closer; turning more red as he fucked Patrick's mouth but it was too much.

It was weird at first, the slide of it, being on his back and having his mouth used like this. But he liked it, Pete was kneeling on Patrick’s free hand, so he couldn't move it, but he was hard from the feeling and it was getting to his head again, he was fogging over in that way like before. His body felt like it was buzzing in a trance, turning on by everything as Pete fucked his mouth over and over. The moment Patrick felt like he was taking a step deeper into the weird headspace, his mouth suddenly filled with something wet. Pete's hand had tightened in his hair, and his eyes were shut. Patrick swallowed what he could, but some still dribbled from the corners when Pete pulled his dick out. 

He couldn't talk for a minute or so. His jaw felt weird from being stretched open and he felt like he was sort of floating, with a tinge of desperation because he hadn't come yet and his jeans were sort of constricting him.

“What do you want, baby?” and that was nice, being called that. Patrick had always laughed at pet names in the past. He couldn't think past that though, couldn't actually think of anything other than the fact that Pete was finally undoing Patrick’s pants and the usual yank to get them past his thighs, but he didn't lose the feeling at all. That he was in some weird trance bubble beneath the water. It was made so much better when Pete wrapped a hand around him, and jerked him off. It didn't take much at all. Patrick had felt like he was on the brink of an orgasm the minute after Pete’s dick had slid into his mouth.

Patrick lay there afterward completely spent. His bones felt like liquid and the sheets felt cool against his bare legs. Now he was laying naked in Pete’s bed, but his usual need to like cover up at all possible moments was working against him and he didn't care. 

Pete wasn't there for a while, but then he was, handing Patrick a glass of water, and wiping him over with a damp cloth. As Patrick finally became aware of himself and found himself back in his own head, he looked at Pete and smiled, drinking down the glass of water.

“Okay that was amazing,” Patrick said. His voice came out a little husky, but mostly fine. Now the  weird trance was gone he felt better. “I felt like I was super inactive when it came to sucking your dick but I liked it!”

“That’s good.” Pete smiled at him, stroking Patrick's hair softly. “You look really good with a dick in your mouth, but I kinda miss hearing whatever crazy batshit thing comes out the majority of the time.”

Patrick frowned in thought. “Is that a compliment or not? Sounds pretty insulting.”

“No I like the shit you say,” Pete said. He took the glass back and then gently pushed Patrick down onto the bed again. He placed the glass on the side and hopped into the bed beside Patrick, arm over him. 

“You haven't fucked me since that first night. I keep thinking you will, but then you don’t,” Patrick said thoughtfully. He turned over, so he was nose to nose with Pete. He felt sleepy, if more aware than he'd been before. 

“Technically tonight was our first date. Totally uncool to have sex on a first date.” He winked at Patrick awkwardly, but then shut his eyes. If his insomnia was as bad as he claimed it was, Patrick highly doubted he was going to be sleeping anytime soon, but it gave himself an excuse to shut his eyes and sink closer towards Pete and sleep.

Patrick woke up in the early hours. There was light streaming in from the large windows. Pete didn't have drapes covering them and the all-hour traffic was flashing shadows across the room. It hadn't bothered him the last few times, so he didn't get why it did now. Patrick peeked a look at Pete and he was laying there, staring up at the shadowy ceiling, eyelashes flickering. Patrick put a hand on his shoulder, curled up facing him and smiled when Pete looked down at him.

“Hey, have you ever been married?” Patrick asked. “ _Are_ you married?”

“What a great conversation starter.” Pete's voice was husky in the early morning darkness. Patrick liked the sound of it though. “No... I'm not married, nor have I ever been.”

“Have you ever _wanted_ to get married?” Patrick asked instead. Pete stared down at him, frowning like it totally wasn't the time. Patrick shrugged, snuggling in closer. 

“I don't think so. If you're asking if I've ever been in love, then yeah. Not for a long time, but there was a guy once that I thought I'd settle down with.”

“But then what happened?”

“We broke up, it didn't work out and now he's dead.”

“How did he die?” Patrick asked. “I mean, I'm sorry he's dead.”

“It’s okay.” Pete put his arm over Patrick in a comforting manner. “It was a long time ago and his death came a long time after I was with him.”

“Well, I'm still sad he died. That sucks,” Patrick said. “Sometimes I'm a heavy sleeper, usually I am, but then I sometimes wake up at like two am with all these thoughts in my head.”

“It's two thirty,” Pete joked. “You wanna sit here quietly together or get up.”

“I don't know.” It was warm in bed, and he liked laying there, naked with Pete, but he wasn't feeling sleepy at all. 

“We can go for a walk,” Pete said, and Patrick nodded immediately. He liked the sound of that. 

Patrick pulled on his clothes and a scarf of Pete's and they walked the streets. Patrick didn't know this part of the city; it was art galleries and wine bars and like at least fifteen years out of Patrick’s interests. Maybe that's why Pete lived there. Patrick laughed at the thought, but kept it to himself, even if he got an odd look off Pete. 

“I keep thinking about your dead boyfriend,” Patrick said after five minutes. When he ducked his head to the scarf, he could smell Pete's cologne. When Patrick wore cologne, it was a ghostly attempt to find some form of scent at the bottom of a three-year old bottle his mom had bought him. 

“Why?” Pete said. He looked at Patrick curiously as they crossed the road. There was another row of art galleries and Pete stared at the window of one. “I wasn't with him. I didn't even go to the funeral.”

“But you loved him once...that's important right?”

“Yeah, I guess, but.” Pete frowned softly, and then turned with a gentle look on his face. “When I first moved to the city I was a bit older than you, and the group I ran around in...we were on the wrong side of the rails, you know?”

“Like, drugs?” Patrick asked, and Pete nodded.

“We were in the art scene which is a lot of sex, drugs and, well, drugs. We _were_ the art scene which was way different to what it is now. Most of them are dead now, really, or washed up. He was a guy that I did coke with, that I slept with and then I got out of it and left him behind.”

“Oh, that's so sad.” Patrick couldn't really imagine Pete young and artsy, which, from his own course, he knew to be super different to being an actual artist. “But you got out of it, which is good.”

“Yeah. I'm in a much better place.” Pete tugged on Patrick’s arm, somehow pulling a trio of keys from his back pocket. “My friend runs this gallery, I've got some stuff in here. You wanna take a look?”

“Like an authorized break in?” Patrick giggled, but nodded his head. The gallery was echoing with their footsteps as they walked through. Patrick followed Pete into a backroom which was like a large storeroom. The lights flickered on and Patrick blinked at the brightness as his eyes adjusted.

“I keep getting nagged to take my shit out of here, but when I'm done with a painting I kinda never wanna see it again,” Pete said, moving canvases out of the way, presumably looking for one of his own.

“I can be like that with music,” Patrick said, looking around. Most of the canvasses were covered in dust sheets to protect them, but Pete never bothered covering them over again.

“What do you play? You're studying it, right?”

“Whatever I need at that moment,” Patrick said softly. He felt Pete’s eyes on him and so he shrugged. “I guess I'm weird like that, but if I feel like writing a song that needs a heavy bass I'll just play one until I get it.”

“That's insane.” Pete was focusing on Patrick again. “So you basically play everything.”

“Well not _everything._ Drums are my go to, really, I just love a good beat. It's like the spine of a song, right? But I mean, my piano game is fair and I'm sorta okay on guitar. And I'll sing if I need to, but everyone thinks they can sing in my class.” Patrick realized he'd been talking a lot when there was an odd silence. He looked over at Pete, who had a canvas in his hand, but was staring intently at Patrick. “What?”

“You're way more talented than you let on,” Pete said, but then stood up, canvas in two hands. “This is one of mine. It's not my best.”

“No, it's nice.” Patrick didn't get it. How could he? It just looked like white red and black paint smeared on the canvas. Patrick went to touch it, it was raised and lumpy, but then he remembered their first meeting and Pete mocking him so he pulled his hand away. 

“You can touch, I won't be an ass this time,” Pete promised, and Patrick raised his hand to the artwork. It was dry, coarse. Patrick didn't get it, but he liked it more now he could touch it.

“Can I… can I borrow it? “

“Okay… “ Pete handed it over and Patrick smiled. 

“Not in a weird way… I just want to look at it some more when you're not looking at me,” Patrick said, he grabbed the canvas at the corners, noticing Pete's scribbled signature across the bottom. “What's the most you ever got for a painting.”

“Uh, a few hundred, five maybe. For one at least. It's been more when they've been bought in a collection.”

“Oh wow.” Patrick automatically started following Pete out of the room and down another corridor into an office. “That's a lot.”

“It wasn't regular, so no.” Pete held the door open and Patrick walked into the nice office. Well it looked like it could be nice in the daytime and not at three thirty in the morning. “This is my friend Andy's gallery. He's a good guy. He'd hate me for dating you.”

“Because of my age?” Patrick asked, not surprised when Pete nodded his head. “He doesn't have to know.”

“No, he doesn't.” Pete stepped closer as Patrick dropped the canvas. 

Okay so Patrick totally _wasn't_ a cool person at all, but there was something cool in, like, making out with Pete in some random dude's office in an empty art gallery in the early hours. 

“You wanna get fucked again? Isn't that what you were bitching about earlier?” Pete mumbled, not long after removing his tongue from Patrick's mouth. 

"I thought it was trashy to do it on a first date?” Patrick smirked, even at the jolt of something hot in his stomach when Pete slid his hand over Patrick's belly. 

“Our first date was yesterday…” Pete trailed off, his lips bumping into Patrick again. “Today’s new again.” Patrick wanted to laugh, because that was like the lamest move ever, but it was being said to him and it was Pete, so he let him off. 

At first they were just making out _really_ heavy, but then Pete’s hand got to goosing, and then got past that. Fuck, Patrick was into it. This was the kinkiest thing he’d ever done. He hadn't done anything remotely involving kinky until, like, a week back, but still. It was totally his direction. 

Pete stepped away at one point, dark lips and rumpled clothing that kind of made Patrick feel hot-as-fuck because he did that. Pete’s hand was in his own wallet, rummaging until he found the square foil he was looking for.

“How do you want it?” Pete asked and Patrick nodded along until he realized what was said. Then he just shrugged. He'd only done it once before and he just had a vague recollection of clumsy missionary. “Over the desk or on my lap?”

“Both sound pretty good!” Patrick said, and then squeezed his face up because his weird anxiety was back. Pete just laughed good-naturedly, and waited for Patrick. “I think I might be too neurotic and clumsy to take the reins just yet. Over the desk would be hot, right?”

“I don't lose either way,” Pete pointed out, but then his arms were around Patrick, and he was kissing him and that was seriously much better than anything else, even the mega awesome blow-job earlier. Patrick didn't think he'd ever enjoy giving head as much. Was that weird? He wished he could asked Joe, who knew most things, but this definitely wasn't his area of expertise.

Patrick shut his eyes as he was bent over the desk. It was kind of weird, definitely not an everyday occurrence and he was nervous, with the backs of his legs cold and his ass just hanging out. He liked the sounds though, the sound of the wrapper ripping and Pete tugging the condom on slickly.

Patrick was wondering what exactly was gonna make things...slicker, when he felt two spit-wet fingers press against him. Okay. fine. Patrick could take it. He remembered how much he liked it afterward anyway, and he was kinda into Pete, and his big dick. He could be a big boy about it.

“Can we take it slow? You're my only experience. Once. Last week,” Patrick blurted out, but Pete suddenly softened his hands, one stroking down the base of Patrick’s spine, the other sneaking its way inside. 

“Just take deep breaths, alright? You’re good at this, remember?” Patrick had been good at the whole blow-job thing and, like, cuddling Pete late at night. He could do this too. He took a deep breath and arched his back. Pete’s fingers went a little deeper and that felt good. He was glad to be sober for this. 

After a few minutes of soft lips on the back of his neck and gentle fingers inside, Patrick figured he was ready for the upgrade and he nodded his head. He wanted it to be good for Pete too, not just a lesson in anal sex for him. 

The best part was the moment when Pete’s dick was pressing against him. There was excitement for Patrick, it kicked off that flicker of anticipation, lit him up. He was in a stranger’s office, being bent the fuck over a desk by a super hot artist. He curled his fingers over the edge of the desk, sucked in a breath, and pushed back.

“Fuck.” Pete groaned as Patrick slowly took him in. A part of Patrick wanted to see, watch himself take dick, but he had to settle to hearing it instead. He groaned when the tightness kicked in, but it wasn't as bad as he'd told himself to remember. It was heavy and it felt wrong, but in a good way. There was this weird feeling inside, the fact he couldn't tighten up. That when he did, it just made Pete groan, because it was enveloping him. 

“Nah, I like this,” Patrick said, pressing his mouth into the wood of the desk as Pete finally started to thrust. He wanted it like this forever somehow. Wanted to be bent over by Pete and fucked because it felt good, like he was good and he couldn't go wrong with it. It didn't sound like he could, at least. 

Pete’s hands were all over him that Patrick forgot he only had two. One minute they were tugging in his hair, the next angling him up over his hips, the next they were wrapping around Patrick’s dick, tugging at him completely off rhythm to his thrusts, but that's what made it good. Patrick didn't know whether to move into the hand or the dick, both were good and he was fire inside and outside too. He felt hot hot hot, until he was just coming, crying out onto the polished wood below him. The aftershocks were good too, laying there, spasming around Pete, getting shoved over the desk with the movements until he was squeezing Patrick’s thighs so tight it hurt. Then it was over and Patrick was still laid over the desk as Pete cleaned up, like nothing had ever happened. 

“These need to go up.” Pete was gently pulling Patrick’s pants up again and then turned him, hands on his cheeks. He smiled genuinely at Patrick, then kissed his mouth. “You got what you wanted out of the date, right?”

“Yeah.” Patrick suddenly felt really really tired. He didn't even want to climb into Pete’s bed, but his own, and then sleep for a few days. Pete could join him, but only if they slept. “At first I was worried, but I really liked it,”

“I noticed.” Pete picked up the canvas Patrick had wanted and then put an arm over his shoulders guiding him from the room. “When you get nervous your words are hilarious. It’s cute.”

“It’s social anxiety,” Patrick corrected. “Or self-esteem. Can't remember.” Patrick broke off to yawn, though he leaned into Pete as they walked through the dark gallery, and out onto the street. 

There was no point going back to Pete’s apartment as it was getting way past four AM. They found an all-day diner and Pete ordered coffee for himself and tea for Patrick, because it was the only thing he could tolerate at that time.

“Are we officially dating?” Patrick asked softly. A pastry was put in front of him by the waitress. Pete must've ordered it without Patrick realizing. He had a feeling he fell asleep for, like, thirty seconds when they first sat down. 

“We can go out again, yeah,” Pete said. “This isn't the conversation to be having when you’re nearly comatose in your croissant, but you gotta realize that our lives are at different points. You’re about to learn things I found out years ago.”

“Like sex?” Patrick muttered. He looked at Pete, but his eyesight was blurry. It always got worse when he was tired and he hadn't been wearing his glasses. They made him look too geeky for hot dates, or so he figured.

Pete paused before answering. “Kind of. And heartbreak, too.”

“You gonna break my heart?” Patrick laughed. Maybe he was so tired he was experiencing delirium. “Why am I so tired?”

“Because you’ve been up most of the night. Anyway, I just think we should keep it casual for now, okay? Until we’re sure. Plus, I have friends that would kick my ass for dating a college student.”

“Friends like Andy?” Patrick remembered the name from earlier. He was fairly certain it was his office they’d had sex in. “I’m not a freshman though. Second year counts for something, right?” Patrick said, and even though his eyesight was terrible, he’s still certain Pete was smiling at him sadly.

 

Patrick slept like the dead for twelve hours when he got back to the apartment. The sex and all of the socializing must have taken it out of him. He didn't know if that made him weird or not. He didn't care because he awoke feeling refreshed and with a text from Pete telling him he had a good night.

Patrick stumbled into the shower. The water wasn't all that warm, but it didn't matter because it helped wake him up some more. Joe was up when Patrick walked into the living room. He was eating toast and staring at the canvas that Patrick had left on the floor when he'd finally arrived home.

“What’s it supposed to be?” Joe asked, when Patrick took a seat beside him.

“Uh, abstract I guess. I don't know.” Patrick stared at the murky colors some more. “I asked to borrow it so I could look at it without him watching.”

“I don't like it,” Joe said. Patrick would have agreed, only he really liked Pete now so he didn't want to jinx the relationship by going along with it. “You didn't text so I guess it went well?”

“Yeah.” Patrick laughed, almost in relief. “It started off weird because of the age thing, but it was good when we got back to the apartment. _Then_ I woke up and we went on a walk to his friend’s art gallery and he showed me his artwork.”

“Good date then?” Joe smiled softly at Patrick once he'd swallowed the last of his toast. “Did the weird thing with the brain fog shit happen again?”

“Yeah, but not all the time...like when I, like, gave him head it came back but not really for the sex.”

“Dude, that is so weird,” Joe concluded. “You should totally go to a doctor about it _‘ooh there’s something wrong doc! Giving head makes me so woozy!’”_

“Shut up,” Patrick laughed, but nudged his side. “Pete said we should keep things casual for now too… he's scared his friends will find out about my age.”

“Casual as in he wants to date others as well, or casual as in don't get too invested?”

Patrick shrugged, having no idea. “I think the second one. I don't really want him dating anyone else.”

“Then tell him that.”

“I could try, I guess,” Patrick said, but he didn't really like the idea of it. 

Joe had won tickets to an ice hockey game that night. It wasn't really either of their thing, but they hadn't really had much time together recently and so they wanted to hang out. It was winter and it was cold in the rink, but Patrick still attempted to get into the game. Jocks weren’t his type, but he still liked the way the game would stop just so two dumbasses could start beating the shit out of each other.

“Why do they do that?” Patrick asked Joe, who just shrugged. “Seems kinda dumb.”

“I wouldn't wanna lose my teeth that way. It's bad enough in my dreams,” Joe said. Then went on to explain about his teeth falling out in a recurring nightmare. 

“That sucks,” Patrick said, but then they got preoccupied with the game again. 

It was a tight squeeze getting out of the stadium and back onto the streets afterward. Patrick couldn't remember if their team won, or who their team was. It wasn't like they were watching the Blackhawks. If they had been, he'd have been bragging to his brother about it already. 

They tried to get into a bar afterward, but the guys on the door were strict on this side of town and they were turned away each time. At least they tried, and Joe managed to buy them some rum to pour into their coke when they got back. 

“Pete has a dead boyfriend,” Patrick said later that night. They were sitting on Joe's bed, the alcohol split between their plastic cups. 

Joe looked at him lazily, laid out on the bed. “That's deep, dude. Were they together when it happened?”

“Well no. I think it would be like if Beth died for you.” Joe had dated Beth as a sophomore in high school. She'd been his first girlfriend and she always copied Patrick's French homework after school. She failed the class. “So if your ex-girlfriend died.”

“But he must've cared if he told you about it.”

“Maybe. He just told me because I asked if he'd ever been in love before. But he had this boyfriend and, like, they were on drugs or something, but Pete got clean and moved away and his ex died.” 

There was silence for a few long seconds.

“Dude, you gotta be careful. You don't wanna get wrapped up in anything sordid.”

“No, I wont,” Patrick laughed, but Joe had a point. “He’s reluctant to even let me drink and he's clean now. You know I'm not interested in that shit.” He'd smoked weed once the year before but hadn't like the headache he got, or the way it made his eyes itch. He didn't like the idea of anything heavier.

“I know that, but just remember that in a few years I'll be a legit lawyer and can pin anything I want on him if he breaks your heart,” Joe said, fake-clinking his empty beaker with Patrick’s.

“You want to go into family law,” Patrick pointed out. Plus he still had to finish his poli-sci degree before he could apply to law school. Still his insides felt kinda gooey at Joe's words. 

“So? He won't know that, plus I'll have connections. I'll make him pay.” Joe literally slept through half his lectures, Patrick knew that much, but he was naturally gifted and had a photographic memory so he'd always passed exams with flying colors.

“Thank you,” Patrick said, feeling close to the edge of something. “For the rum and the conversation.”


	4. Chapter 4

Patrick wasn't tired that night, which was weird considering that he'd spent the evening around a ton of screaming dudes. All that aggressive testosterone was generally exhausting, but he'd crashed so hard earlier in the day that he was almost buzzing. His skin felt raw, and his heart was beating fast. He remembered how it felt feeling bent over that desk and it made his stomach flip with excitement. He wondered if it was the same for Pete, or if he'd done it so many times that it no longer held anything like that for him. 

He stared at Pete's canvas some more, at the muddy colors, the flashes of red. He liked touching it even if he wasn't supposed to. He still didn't understand it, but he did have a rhythm in his head. He took the canvas into his bedroom and closed the door, booting up his computer. Maybe if he just stared at the artwork and let a song come to him, it would make more sense.

He worked on the song until he was tired. It was coming out kind of aggressive at first. A fast beat and this thick distorted guitar. It wasn't really Patrick’s thing, but it helped him see the anger in the painting, or maybe he was just reading it that way, but he kinda got it. He thought he did.

Patrick worked on it through the night, then he went to sleep for a few hours and then worked on it some more. Then he had work, and it was a bore. He was stuck training this kid named Brendon who wouldn't shut up. He was a freshman in college, he was from Vegas. He loved the party scene. Patrick had heard it all in the first five minutes.

“Hey, you seeing anyone?” Brendon asked as Patrick showed him how to make one of their specialty coffees. Patrick stared at him, like he was trying to assess the situation. “What? Can't fault a guy for trying! I'm, like, a total sex-a-holic.”

“I have a boyfriend,” Patrick said cautiously. Brendon was weirding him out a little, but getting asked out was still a novelty and it was kinda flattering. “Sorry.”

“You know I usually go for skinny peeps, but you look kinda cuddly. And little. Like something cute you just wanna pet.” Brendon put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder, which was an improvement on patting his head, but still. 

“You’re not exactly a giant,” Patrick said, stepping away. “If you need help getting dates, my best friend is always throwing guys my way, I'll catch a number for you.”

“Oh no it’s okay,” Brendon laughed, shrugging his shoulder. He actually looked slightly disappointed. “Sorry about the petting.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Patrick had been petted before, unfortunately. 

 

Patrick wanted to go home that night and complain about the new guy to Joe, but he'd gone out with his girlfriend. It was only fair; he'd spent Saturday night with Patrick instead of her, so he just sulked on the couch for a while watching TV. Then he worked on the song some more. He didn't add any lyrics, he couldn't think of any and he didn't think it needed them. He played it back when it was finished and tweaked it some more. He thinks he got it a little better; felt the rage as Pete painted, the muddy parts where it changed into something else. Patrick knew the feeling, when the anger wasn't as fresh, and dulled into something that could weigh him down. It felt worse than the rage.

Patrick was awoken Sunday morning by his phone ringing. He rubbed at his face, and fumbled under the sheets until he found the vibrating cell.

“Hello?” he said groggily, pulling at the sleep from his eyes and waiting for his eyesight to focus as much as it could. 

“Hi Patrick, it’s Pete.” Patrick sat up immediately, slamming his hand on the nightstand until he grabbed his glasses. “Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Patrick lied and then laughed. “Maybe a little.”

“Sorry.” Pete was smiling, Patrick could tell, and it made his soft insides clench up. “I’m playing soccer this morning at a park not far from your place. You wanna grab a coffee afterward?”

“Okay. Sure. Where?” Pete laughed again, but listed off an address. Patrick didn't know it exactly, he didn't really venture into the parks all that often, but he looked it up. He could walk it in twenty minutes. Patrick didn't bother with wearing anything that looked at all put together. He just threw on a sweater and jacket, his glasses and hat.

Pete was in soccer shorts and shirt when Patrick met him at the park by his car. Soccer must've only just ended. His skin was damp with perspiration as he tugged the shirt over his head, fumbling for a new one in his bag. Patrick didn't know how he wasn't freezing. 

“Do you do this every Sunday?” Patrick asked, standing awkwardly. More men in similar states of dress walked past, nodding to Pete. No one paid much attention to Patrick, but then they never did. 

“I try to.” Pete was nearly done, sliding a light jacket on over his fresh shirt. He smiled at Patrick and then leaned up, closing the trunk of his car. He seemed sad, maybe. Or not as vibrant as he did normally. “Come on, let's get a coffee.”

Patrick got them coffee and some pastries in a quiet cafe a block away. His funds just about stretched to it, and he didn't want Pete always paying for everything. He shuffled back to their small table near the back of the cafe, feeling almost sophisticated for being out for brunch on a Sunday. 

“Did you win?”

Pete looked up at Patrick, stopping and smiling when the waitress dropped their pastries in front of them. “Huh?”

“The soccer game?”

“Oh yeah.” Pete's forehead creased before he rubbed at it. “It was just a five-aside thing. You know?” Well, no, Patrick didn't know, but he nodded all the same. “Patrick, you look so fucking cute that it's killing me.”

“Oh.” Patrick let out a nervous laugh and then looked down at himself. He hadn't even bothered to dress in anything decent. “I didn't even try this time.”

“It’s good.” Pete smiled at Patrick and then suddenly let out a full breath, like he'd been holding something in forever. “Man, Patrick. I was feeling so uptight and shitty and then I looked at you and it just made me feel better.”

“Oh.” Patrick wasn't entirely sure what to say so he just smiled instead.

“I asked you out to end things, but now I don't think I can.” Patrick had the briefest moments of panic at being dumped before he just blinked at Pete some more, trying to work things out. “You’re just a kid.”

Patrick felt his eyes roll to the back of his head. “Not that again. Haven't we had this conversation a ton already?”

“Yeah. Well, I don't want the responsibility of dealing with breaking your heart, or fucking you up in any way because I look at you and you’re this weird little ball of something good and I don't...there’s a lot of stuff you don't know about me-”

“Is this your anxiety now?” Patrick was glad to not be the only one. “You said you're not married.”

“I’m not.” Pete looked confused at the change in conversation, his eyes sliding to the table again.

“And you don't have any hidden kids?”

“Nope.” Pete frowned in thought. “None that I know of, at least.”

“So you have no ties, you aren't on drugs anymore and you seem stable and free. I'm not sure what the issue is. It's not like you're a thirty-five year old married man with three kids, two dogs and a hamster.”

“A hamster?” Pete laughed again, but he looked a bit brighter.

“Didn't you have a hamster? I did. Anyway, I just mean it's not as bad as you think.”

“It’s still gross to a lot of people.”

“Fuck a lot of people. They don't have to know and if it's about me falling in love with you, I'm not yet. It's only been, like, two weeks. But I won't tell you when I do.”

Pete put his head on the side, kind of like what dogs do. “You won't tell me when you fall in love?”

Patrick shrugged, “You’d probably know, I guess.”

“Probably.” Pete finally took a sip of his coffee, still staring at Patrick. “You will tell me though, if anything makes you uncomfortable?”

“Sure.” Patrick laughed. “I usually just feel confused. I'm stupid like that.”

“Don't call yourself stupid.”

“No, it's okay.” Patrick shrugged. “I'm not putting myself down. Well, I am, but only because I like to be honest with myself. I just get stupid during new situations.”

“Patrick, man. I don't even know what to say to that.”

“How was your day? Or your yesterday considering it's still morning?” Patrick poked at his croissant, it crumbled into a buttery pile, but he decided he didn't want it after all. 

“Yesterday was okay. I hung out with some friends, but I worked the bar last night. It was normal. It was a Saturday. And you?”

“I went to a hockey game the night before with Joe, but then I was just working yesterday. There was this kid that's just started and he asked me out.”

Pete sat up straighter. “I dunno how I feel about that.”

“No, it's okay.” Patrick blushed and hated himself for it. “To be fair, I think he was just horny, he said I wasn't his type. He likes them skinny normally. I dunno if it was a compliment or not. Just thought he’d try his luck.”

“You're not fat.”

Patrick shrugged, not all that bothered. “No, but I'm not skinny either.”

“Is it an issue?”

“Not really.” Patrick pulled his glasses off to rub at his eyes. “It bothers me in that sometimes it's weird that you're into me when you wake up to purposely go and run about. I don't get how you enjoy the way I look when you make yourself look a certain way, but I never stay the same. I've been fat, I've been skinny and I feel insecure whatever my weight is. Sort of just feels like a part of me.”

“You might outgrow that feeling,” Pete offered, but Patrick batted his hand. He didn't really care. He was what he was. “Tell me about this guy at work. Is he good looking.”

“Not my type,” Patrick laughed, watching the serious frown on Pete’s face lighten. “I like ‘em older.”

 

Half of Patrick had wanted to give Pete the song he’d written from the canvas, but he didn't want to seem like a total weirdo, nor did he want to be there when Pete played the song. It would be like a fucking terrible recital. So he talked about other things, mostly music. He was horrified by Pete’s taste in music, well aside from a few classics, but he could teach him some class in time.

“At least you don't look your age,” Patrick told him when they were back at Pete’s car. He didn't want to bring the age thing up again, but it just slipped out. “I just mean, you know, it’s not like you look nearly forty.”

“You don't look your age.” He had a point, but then, Patrick at least managed to hold back the quip about Pete taking him home that first night. Patrick got that it was kinda...uncomfortable if they just looked at the facts.

“Can I come to your club?” Patrick asked. Pete was in so much of a better mood than at the start, but he just laughed at Patrick, scruffing at his hair.

“Not for nearly two years.”

“Eight times out of ten, I can get into places with Joe. His fake ID always works,” Patrick said, but then shrugged one shoulder. “I don't really like clubs anyway, so I'll stay away. Promise.”

“I'm taking that for truth,” Pete said. “I can't have you there, okay?” his voice was serious, like he hadn't picked up on the playful tone of Patrick’s.

“I mean it. I don't even know where it is, or what it's called. The way you're talking makes it sound like you’re a spy.” Patrick paused, but then had another thought. “Oh...is your bar a cover for like a drug’s den?”

Pete tried to pin back his smile. “It’s not anything like that, I promise.”

“Good. I don't want to be kidnapped and used as bait by any enemies you have.” Patrick thought about it. He’d be the worst ransom ever; he’d die of fright before they finished tying him up.

“Your weirdness is killer,” Pete said, but then he was pulling Patrick closer and kissing him goodbye. That was better than any weird thing that could possibly come out of Patrick’s mouth. 

 

College was killer for Patrick for the next few days. He had to interact and do group work when he was inclined to just shove his headphones on instead. A good 40% of the time he wanted to drop out, and his grades pretty much reflected it. He vented in his head about it, stuck in workshops with a group of people that weren’t his friends. 

Then he had work afterward, which was dull but okay. Patrick listened to an in depth conversation about the differences between shabby chic interiors versus rustic and tried to imagine living in an apartment that wasn't full of rented furniture. Full of shit that he actually liked and enjoyed. 

Brendon was shadowing him again, an annoying wasp in Patrick’s ear, but he just nodded at him and shrugged when he didn't know the answer. He so badly wanted to work in the store and not the coffee shop. He wanted to be with the music and vinyl and discover new artists with old, battered long abandoned vinyls. Maybe that way he could quit college and just sink into the walls of the record store, be forgotten by everyone but Joe and Pete.

When he got back to the apartment after three long days of school and work, Joe was moping on the couch, looking miserable. Patrick hadn't seen him in a couple of days, but he was surprised by the lank condition of his hair. He also had weird stubble that made his face look dirty.

“I'm starting to feel like something bad has happened,” Patrick said, taking a cautious seat beside Joe.

“I got dumped,” Joe said and Patrick nodded his head. He was kinda surprised, but he hadn't really ever paid much attention to Joe's girlfriend, aside from the time he was forced to go to that art show and was abandoned by the pair of them. Patrick doesn't hold grudges, not really.

“Why did she do that?” Patrick asked, trying to think back to anything suspicious. “Is it because you took me to the hockey game?”

“I don't think so. Maybe. She did say that I didn't spend enough time with her, but she was always busy with debate.” Joe shut his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “She was so hot when she would debate.”

“Oh I'm sure.” Patrick couldn't think of anything worse than debating in front of a ton of people. The thought made his palms sweaty, his chest a little tight. “It's her loss. You're better than her by far.”

“You have to say that, dude,” Joe told him, but he did look, like, a teeny bit happier. “You know what I've been thinking. You and I would be fucking great. If I liked dudes and all.”

“But you don’t,” Patrick answered cautiously, wondering where this was going.

“I know, but in every other way we're compatible. We could get together and then we’d have your room that we could rent out at a premium price and we wouldn't be lonely and, like, we like the same stuff and I'd be a sick lawyer one day and you'll be whatever the fuck you wanna do and we could adopt twins and cuddle because you're all soft and shit.”

The idea was actually kinda cool, apart from the one thing. “But we’d have to have sex.”

“That is the one downside,” Joe admitted. “Plus you have that daddy you're seeing.”

“Don't call him that!” Patrick slapped at Joe’s shoulder, horrified at the thought of Pete being referred to that way.

“My new friends that are lesbians called him that,” Joe shrugged, “I call them up sometimes for advice for future law school and also to discuss your love-life.”

Things were moving in a different direction. “Don't talk to them about it...wait what do they say?”

“Stuff about the culture of age gaps in gay relationships, very bad. I dunno. I just wanna be prepared in case it goes to shit for you, so I, like, asked them questions. But anyway I mostly care about the advice for law school.”

“I think Pete's aware of that culture or whatever. I think that's why he gets so fussy about it. But that is _boring_ to talk about. We should focus on you instead.” Anything to take the focus off Patrick and Pete. “We should do something fun together.”

“Like cry and talk about our feelings?” Joe replied, and Patrick could almost feel the sharpness of his sarcasm cutting through. 

“No, like...” Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think. Something fun to do with Joe. “Let's go to a metal gig! You like metal, all those raging feelings will be put to good use in the mosh pit, plus it will give me something to feel entitled about afterward.”

“Is there anyone even playing right now.” Joe sounded almost into the idea. 

“We live in the city, there must be someone somewhere playing a show to calm all the whining metal heads down. I will research, you go get cleaned up.” Patrick batted his hand at Joe with a sense of purpose. He did a quick online search of the area and found a band. They were local, but it was at a fairly decent venue. He could buy tickets on the door, and even better, they were letting under 21’s in. Patrick never did anything quickly, so he was surprised at how fast he'd managed to sort things. Joe was out of the shower, and his stubble was finally shaved from his face. He was all in black, an Iron Maiden shirt on. 

“If we were dating I'd take you to metal gigs every Friday night,” Patrick told him. He didn't wear a whole lot of black himself, but he'd quickly find something vaguely appropriate to wear. 

“And I'd listen to your favorite records and pretend they don't bore me to death,” Joe responded, just as Patrick darted from the room. 

It only took them twenty minutes to get to the venue and another five for Patrick to line up and get the tickets. Their hands were stamped as they entered and Patrick suddenly found himself surrounded by lots of black clothing and scraggly hair. He told himself he was doing it for Joe, that it's what best friends were for, right before an incredibly tall asshole with a mullet backed into Patrick, spilling beer over his shoulder.

“Sorry bro, didn't see you down there.” There was laughter as they moved away. Patrick touched his damp shoulder, before smiling at Joe, who was cringing.

Patrick couldn't whine about it, he knew that much. “Not a problem! Come on, let's find a good spot.”

Of course the band was terrible, but that was part of the fun in spontaneously buying tickets to metal shows for his best friend. It was way more hardcore than the gigs they’d gone to back in high school. Patrick didn't even like the music much, or the dudes battering into him from behind, but he just felt like a good dude for trying to make Joe happy.

Afterward, Patrick felt like he needed to shower for like a thousand years, the smell of sweat was curved into every ridge of his nose, but his heart was beating fast and his ears were ringing. Music was awesome like that, even if he didn't care for it.

“Good cheer up, or not?” Patrick bragged. He even bought Joe a burger afterward. His money until next payday was basically gone now, but at least Joe was smiling at him. 

“No girl has ever bought me cheap as fuck metal tickets before,” Joe confessed, pulling apart his burger and flinging the soggy lettuce to the side. The restaurant was more or less empty, and the bright lights made Patrick’s eyes hurt, but he didn't care. “I owe you, bud.”

“I’m sure you’ll be there when Pete dumps me,” Patrick said it as a joke, but it seemed like the most likely scenario for the relationship. Right now Patrick wasn't too invested so the thought was mostly uneasy rather than depressing. When Joe gave Patrick an odd look, he shrugged, biting down on a cold, soggy fry. “I'm a pragmatic.” 

“No, you’re not,” Joe laughed. “And it’s pragmatist. You're using your adjectives as nouns.”

“Is it? That doesn't sound right.” Patrick laughed when Joe did, shrugged when a worker looked over at them with concern. “I’d be fucking lost without you.”

Joe blushed, looking down into his sad smooshed burger. “Same, dude.”

 

Patrick was laying in Pete’s bed two weeks later, wondering whether he should leave or not. It was morning, he’d spent the night, something he’d done a lot recently. But he’d awoken to Pete leaving, talking to someone heatedly on the phone. The front door had closed, so Patrick figured it was maybe an emergency or something. He didn't know. So he waited ten minutes, just in case Pete came back.

He didn't though, so Patrick figured it was maybe time to leave. He didn't want to make a big panicking deal about it so he text Pete on the bus ride to his side of town, told him he’d had a good time and he’d see him later. 

And he was trying so hard to keep it casual, and he still wouldn't say he was, like _in love_ with Pete, but he was super duper into him, in that he thought about him a lot. Pete still seemed cautious, like he was with Patrick, but not really invested, but Patrick didn't care. He had, what Joe called, _the love bug._

“We should go to that bar of his, so you can tell him how you feel,” Joe told him. He was on his break at work and they were picking at a mud pie. “Tell him how you love him.”

“I wouldn't because I don’t. And I said I wouldn't tell him that I love him when I do,” Patrick said, matter of factly. “I feel like I don't really know anything about him. Plus, he's so tetchy about his bar. He won't tell me anything about it.”

“From a one-day lawyer, that sounds like a bad thing.”

“Even I can tell that,” Patrick laughed. “Should I invite him over? Maybe to get him somewhere I'm more comfortable? I dunno. I don't understand relationships. Or how to be in one.”

“Cook him dinner, go all woozy and fall in love in your bedroom. It'll be fine, dude. Seriously. I can go do other shit.” Joe was more of an expert than Patrick, and he'd bounced back from being dumped surprisingly quickly.

Patrick didn't really know how to cook real food, but his mom had packed him a vegetarian recipe book when he moved to college so he unearthed it and flipped through the pages until he landed or something that seemed manageable. Veggie lasagna; put it all in a big dish, serve it with salad. He could do all those things.

It took a while because he needed to find the right kind of music to cook too, nothing too funky or Patrick might start adding interesting ingredients to the mix. R&B won out in the end, legit nineties stuff that Joe said was embarrassing, but whatever, Patrick liked singing along to it as he slowly chopped carrots and zucchini. 

Joe had helped tidy the place up a little, he threw an old sheet on their tiny dining table and found candles they'd stored in case of a power cut. Patrick had a lot of things he wanted to say to Pete. Nothing, like, serious. He just wanted him to hear the song he'd written from the painting and he wanted to know things about him. He could only swoon over his appearance for so long and aside from being an artist with a dead ex-boyfriend, he didn't know much else. 

Pete had said he'd be over at seven, which gave Patrick enough time to shower and put the dish in the oven before he showed up. Patrick didn't bother dressing up too much, Pete seemed to like him more when he didn't try too hard, so he just layered a cardigan over a t-shirt and finger combed his hair.

Pete wore all black, of course, but Patrick just kissed him at the door and pulled him in by the wrist. He felt eager for Pete to not feel like he was in the apartment of two college students because that would be both lame and also possibly set off Pete's sensitivity toward their age gap again. 

“This is nice,” Pete said, though he was already laughing at the bed sheet over the table. It probably wasn't the best choice in tablecloth, but whatever. “So this is where you live.”

“Yup. With Joe, but he's out.”

“You talk about him a lot,” Pete said suddenly, eyes still looking around. “Are you in love with him?”

“No! Gross,” Patrick scrunched his nose up, before calming down. “We’ve been best friends since forever, we moved to college together and he's basically my only friend because I don't really like mixing. Plus he's going to law school after college so he's gonna be successful too. And possibly keep me out of trouble.”

“Doesn't he have, like, five years left of study before he can brag about being a lawyer?”

“He's smart, he can do it. Unlike myself,” Patrick frowned, hurrying over to the oven to make sure nothing was burning. It smelled good. He'd have to call his mom in the morning and tell her he'd finally used the book.

“You're not stupid,” Pete was continuing to the conversation that Patrick had drifted out of. “Not a total dumbass.”

“No, but I'm not smart either and I fucking hate college. I don't know why I chose this course because I fucking hate performing with people. I just like music, I wanna learn all about it but I wanna do it alone and I like creating, but on my own because they all have dumb ideas.”

“You have a lot of feelings,” Pete said, but Patrick just shook his head, waving his hand.

“Nah, you don't wanna hear about this.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno. We just don't really talk about ourselves do we? Or I talk and you listen to me blather and then we have sex.” When Patrick thought about it, it actually kinda sucked. 

“I didn't realize you felt that way.” Pete sounded sincere and his entire face was crunched in confusion. “Maybe I haven't been completely upfront with shit, or holding back too much.”

“Yeah, it's okay, but now I've said it out loud, I kinda don't want it to be that way anymore. I'm not saying I love you. _Obviously._ But I do want more than this, I guess. And I feel like if we don't become more honest then maybe there's no point because you could probably be happier with someone else and I could just hang out with Joe instead.”

“I do like you, dude,” Pete said, and then suddenly he sighed, like he'd been holding a deep breath for a month. When he looked up, he was giving Patrick what he thought was an honest look. He didn't know what that meant, just that it felt like something breaking. “This was your last chance to back out.”

“For fucks sake, just stop with that! You're here in my shitty apartment! I made veggie lasagna and I, like, didn't even bother dressing in anything nice which I think says more than if I'd tried. You know? Doesn't that tell you it all?”

“You ever cooked for anyone before?”

“Not even Joe,” Patrick said, seriously. “We don't know how good it is, anyway. The food, I mean.”

“Come here,” Pete said, and this time when he opened his arms, it didn't seem like there was anything holding him back. It was nice standing there, being hugged without the feeling that he was wasting Pete's time. 

The lasagna turned out really well even though Patrick forgot to make a salad. He even left some on a plate for Joe. He felt so domesticated. 

“Maybe I am good at something other than music,” Patrick mused aloud. He even had wine, though he didn't really drink it. The recipe book told him to have it and it made the table look more special. 

“Is that all you think you're good for?” Pete asked. 

“Well I am _really_ good with music. I just breathe it basically. I wanna know everything about a song if I really love it. As a sophomore in high school I lost like twenty pounds because I discovered John Coltrane and I got seriously obsessed. I needed to spend every moment listening to his music, I was so fascinated. It was like I needed to understand how the songs worked, why they made me feel a certain way.”

“That's amazing. I mean, crazy but amazing.” Pete looked fascinated, if confused. It translated in Patrick's eyes as being seriously cute. 

“It's why I can't deal with my course. Everything is about singing the best note or creating the catchiest chorus, but that's not what it's about! I swear I wanna quit every day I'm there.”

Pete's eyebrows rose. “For serious? Couldn't you just change pathways?”

“Maybe. I dunno. I can't read music which put me off taking the technical route, but I'm taking a few educational courses so I could top up and go into teaching music. Like, if I can't sustain myself by working in a studio because that's what I wanna do. I wanna buy my dad an album one day and watch his face when I tell him it's me playing the drums.” Patrick realized he'd been talking for ages once he came to the end of the conversation and he was out of breath. Both their plates were empty, despite the conversation, and he laughed awkwardly. “I'm just passionate about it, I guess.”

“It's interesting. I don't think I've seen you light up about anything else before. It's pretty on you.”

“Most people go with annoying but okay. Tell me about your passions?” Patrick leaned his elbows onto the table, even when he knew it was bad manners. He was invested.

Pete sat back in his chair, pink tongue licking the edge of his mouth. “Do I have passions anymore? Opening a bar was something I always wanted to do. It wasn't and isn't as easy as I'd hoped, but I got what I wanted.”

“What about your art?” Patrick wondered, trying to keep it cool as he sipped his wine. 

“It keeps me sane, but I'm not passionate about it. It's kinda hard to explain.”

“No it's okay. I think I get it. Its a necessity, right? You have to do it?” Patrick smiled when Pete's eyes lit up, like he was so thankful someone understood. 

 

Patrick didn't have anything for dessert other than a really old sachet of powdered jello. In the end he'd figured he'd just bite the bullet. 

“Okay I got something I wanna show you. Something I've been working on, it kinda fits the conversion.” Pete looked intrigued as Patrick stood up. He beckoned Pete over to the couch and then opened up his laptop, unwinding some close by headphones. “That canvas of yours...I kept staring at it because I don't understand art and, well, see the thing is... when I don't understand something I translate it into something I do, which is, um. Music.”

“You wrote me a song?” Pete's eyebrow raised and Patrick vehemently shook his head. 

“No asshole. I wrote a song for your painting… Kind of. For me. Whatever. I can't watch you listen to it so I'm gonna wash the dishes, but I'll be back in a few minutes.” Patrick knew he was red as anything as he opened the song and dumped the laptop in Pete's lap. He scuttled away to the kitchen, feeling his heart race. He hoped it didn't come off too bunny boiler like. 

Patrick washed the dishes and cleaned the small kitchen for what felt like ten minutes, Pete must've been playing the song over and over. Probably trying to find a way to back out of what he’d committed to an hour before.

When Patrick had adjusted Joe’s plate in the microwave, cleaned the surfaces three times and poked at the dishes drying on the rack, he felt hands on him from behind, dragging him back.

“You are fucking amazing. You might be a genius which is insane because the dumbest things I've ever heard in life have come out of your mouth.” Pete’s mouth on Patrick's neck was hot, but his words weren’t.

“Don't be mean,” Patrick said, “and thanks. I think sometimes my first language is music, you know? And I couldn't work out what your painting was until I translated it.” It sounded both pretentious and idiotic at the same time, but it was the honest truth. He turned, so he was facing Pete and could see the dark humor in his eyes. 

“My brain doesn't work like that so it's crazy for me. I guess it'd be like if I heard your song first and then painted from that?” Pete said and Patrick nodded. He guessed that was right. Pete’s hands were on his face, curling up against Patrick’s soft cheeks and then he was kissing him, pressing him back into the counter. “How would Joe feel if we had sex on the kitchen floor?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for still sticking with this. :)

Joe would be totally faux-annoyed before asking Patrick for all the dirty details afterward, so Patrick led Pete into his bedroom instead. Patrick completely lost his mind, because Pete was pinning his wrists down to the bed and, like, hammering away and Patrick felt like his conscious brain was slowly dimming out and something else was replacing it. Only he was too scared to go past it so he kept holding back, forcing himself to focus instead. 

He felt like he laid there forever afterward, just trying to catch his breath. Pete's hands were on him, which was nice, soothing in his hair, kissing him like he didn't normally after sex. 

“Something weird happens sometimes,” Patrick said, maybe ten minutes later. He rolled over to face Pete, nudging his nose against Pete's hand. “When we have sex.”

“Okay.” Pete smirked like he already knew where this was going. Patrick tried to form some more questions, but he just ended up laughing, rubbing at his face. 

“Is it stupid? I even asked Joe, but he didn't know either,” Patrick said. “Literally nothing is ever straightforward for me.”

“You're being a little melodramatic,” Pete said. He propped himself up, looking down at Patrick in bed. “When you watch porn is it a certain type? Like, you know, one guy being in charge.”

“Isn't that basically all porn,” Patrick laughed, but he shrugged. “I guess though.”

“Yeah and when it happens are you kinda into the idea of being the guy that gets _bossed_ around.”

“I suppose.”

“You like submissive sex, it isn't a problem. I don't think we should go for it too much because there's already a fucking gigantic power imbalance between us and I don't wanna fucking add to it.”

“I'm not into submissive sex!” Patrick said, but then, when he thought about it, he always had those funny moments when he had his hands pinned down, or Pete’s firm grip on the back of his neck. Or that blow job when Pete had basically fucked his mouth. “Oh fuck.”

“It's alright,” Pete laughed and his hand stroked Patrick’s cheek softly. “You might wanna do some googling and not talk to your clueless best friend next time.”

“You don't mind?” Patrick asked, biting his lip. Pete shrugged, and Patrick figured he'd just have to learn to accept that Pete was never gonna be completely chill with the age gap. 

“We can work around it. This is your first relationship, I don't wanna soil it by confusing or hurting you. We’ll do things we both like,” Pete said. Patrick didn't know any of Pete's kinks either, or if he had any. Patrick didn't really know what his were either, not up until this point anyway. 

“But what about the weird brain blurriness,” Patrick asked, curling his fingers around Pete's closest wrist. Pete leaned down and kissed Patrick's mouth, and then his nose.

“Fuckin’ Google it.” 

 

_“I have a fucking life.”_ Pete was on his phone when Patrick woke up the next morning. His voice had sneaked into Patrick’s sleeping brain and stirred him awake. He sounded pissed, his back facing Patrick as he sat at the base of Patrick’s bed. _“You can go fuck yourself. I'm not doing this today.”_ Pete hung up and Patrick debated pretending to sleep, but fought against it, simply smiling when Pete turned to face him. “I was trying to be quiet. Sorry.”

“Is everything okay?” Patrick sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Pete pulled himself back up the bed and nodded his head, falling back to the pillows.

“Just work stuff. One day I'll work for myself alone, I swear.”

Patrick frowned, turning over. “But I thought you were the boss.”

“I went into business with a friend. Don't ever do that.”

“Well, Joe wants to be a lawyer and I doubt I'll be following him into that job,” Patrick said. “Unless he employs me to be his PA. But I don't get technology so probably not.”

“Of course you don't.” Pete laughed like he wasn't surprised, but Patrick just shrugged. Seeing Pete laugh was a thousand times better than the broody one liners from when they first met. “I'm free until the afternoon if you wanna do something.”

Patrick was working that afternoon anyway, but he went out for breakfast with Pete. He felt as if things had really changed, that finally Pete had talked himself into the relationship. They weren't super affectionate as they walked to a diner together, but Patrick didn't think he'd ever be the kind of person to want to smooch in public. Invisibility was much more preferred.

“I'm sorry if I confused you over the past few weeks,” Pete said when they had coffees laid out in front of them. “Liking you freaked me out because I know I shouldn't go there at all.”

“It's okay, I was just ready for you to say something in either direction. This one was preferable.” Patrick paused to sip his drink. “I've never been in a relationship before though so I don't know how it works.”

“I'm not good at them either. The guy I was with that died was basically my one shot at a relationship and we were both into deep shit. Things are usually casual for me; flings, hook ups. One night stands.”

“That isn't a world I understand,” Patrick admitted. His only one night stand was Pete and that was the end of his experience. “You're not seeing anyone else now, right?”

“I'm not dating anyone else and I don't plan to,” Pete said. Patrick vaguely felt his stomach leap, but he tried to keep it cool by grinning like an idiot instead. He had a boyfriend! Like for real now, not just maybe. “We'll keep it between us, okay?”

“Because your friends would be super pissed?” Patrick laughed, watching Pete grimace.

“Some of them would, yeah. The ones with morals. The others would just laugh and congratulate me.” Pete grimaced some more and tugged on his ear awkwardly. “Which is super gross, really.”

Patrick shrugged. “Yeah, but if you told them you were dating a teenager they probably wouldn't expect them to look like me.”

“I like the way you look,” Pete said, which wasn't the point Patrick was making, but he took the compliment all the same. 

Pete walked Patrick to work and then kissed him goodbye, which was amazing. Patrick felt like if he was to turn around, he'd see a film camera shooting him as he entered the record store, like he was in a movie or something. It felt that foreign to his usual life.

“Your boyfriend is old,” Brendon said, following Patrick into the store, maybe it hadn't been a camera watching him, but Brendon instead.

“Okay,” Patrick said, because he wasn't sure how else to answer. 

“It’s super weird, you know?” Brendon said, as if Patrick was at all interested in his opinion. He hummed and nodded his head, listening to Brendon laugh like it was funny. “Whatever dude, you’ll regret it one day. 

“And I'll be sure to thank you for your wisdom, no doubt.” Patrick got caught up in the weird head-space of thinking about what Brendon said, that he ended up fluffing up an order and getting yelled at by some yummy mommy for forgetting the two pumps of toffee in her latte. God, there wasn't anything worse than getting shouted at by a thin blonde woman in yoga pants with a smirking three year old on her lap.

Joe was still out when Patrick got back to the apartment. It was slightly suspicious, but he was probably just enjoying his new found bachelorhood and Patrick couldn't begrudge him that. 

Patrick tried to Google what Pete had spoken about the night before. It took a few goes trying to find the correct keywords to stop porn coming up. Eventually he found something related to it and he sat there, staring confused and embarrassed as things got significantly more detailed. That was not… no. _No way._

Luckily Joe's key scraped in the lock a few minutes later and Patrick slammed his laptop closed, hoping that his face wasn't too pink and he could keep it cool. Luckily Joe was humming and bouncing into the room, in way too much of a good mood to notice Patrick's complexion.

“I have two words for you, Patrick,” Joe said, jumping over the side of the couch and falling against him. “Nipple rings.”

“What about them.” Patrick touched his own chest. He wouldn't like that at all. 

“Met a girl with them. Even hotter than a girl that's sick at debate.”

“You meet people so quickly.” Joe wasn't even like a total lady's man, but girls always liked him. They always laughed at his jokes, even more than Patrick did. 

“It's just casual, I don't want another girlfriend. I don't want to start watching and enjoying TV shows for her enjoyment and then feel like shit because the show reminds me of her. I don't wanna feel humiliated because I asked my parents if I could bring her home for Hanukkah and I had to tell them to forget it now.”

“Dude, that's pretty deep,” Patrick said.

“I know, right?” Joe laughed breezily, throwing his arm over Patrick's shoulder. “And that's why I'm hanging out with a girl with nipple rings.”

Patrick didn't bring up his research to Pete over the next few weeks. They were well into November now and there was thick white snow coating everything. They'd made an effort to always pay their heating because Patrick was certain they'd die otherwise, but sometimes it was just easier to stay at Pete's. It was pretty awesome being naked and hot in bed while the world froze outside the window. 

Pete also didn't freak out so much anymore. There still felt like this wall between them, where he wouldn't talk about work and would get kinda cagey if Patrick brought it up, but he was affectionate and kind in every other way, even if he did have shitty taste in music. 

“I can't believe you allow yourself to enjoy this shit,” Patrick said to Pete, laying in his bed in his underwear as Pete painted in the corner. It sounded like knock-off _Guns N' Roses_ , which meant it was probably their recent stuff. “I always told myself I'd never sleep with anyone with bad taste in music, yet here I am.”

Pete just laughed, looking over at Patrick. “Clearly we can't all be perfect like you.”

“You know, I did almost lose my virginity once,” Patrick said, changing the subject. It popped into his head without realizing. “There was this guy I liked in high school. He was on the swim team, the size of his shoulders was crazy. Our moms were friends so we knew each other.”

“Okay,” Pete didn't look up from his painting, but Patrick could sense that he was listening and wanted him to continue. 

“I guess before then there'd always been a few opportunities at parties and shit, but I never thought it was enough to give up the way my life was already. I liked hanging out with Joe all the time, and even babysitting this annoying kid next door. I liked that if my mom was pissed at me I could hang out at my dad's house instead. I think I liked the mediocrity of my life. The fact that it didn't change was super soothing, maybe because I panic in social situations. I dunno.”

“That sounds a lot like you,” Pete said, and Patrick laughed, looking down at his body covered in blankets.

“I think the worst part is that I knew he liked me back! I wasn't crazy or anything, because when he looked at me it was almost like it burned through my clothes. One day we started kissing in my bedroom, he had these huge fucking hands on the sides of my face and I remember that more than I remember the feeling of him against me. He was kissing me and I was thinking about what I wanted to do next when suddenly he just freaked out. He was on top of me, but punched me in the face like it was the other way around. Avoided me like the plague after that.”

Pete had stopped painting and was wiping his hands on a rag, before coming over to the bed. “Sounds like he had a hard time coming to terms with his sexuality.”

“I guess it was harder for him, I dunno. I wasn't in love with him or anything, but his reaction shocked me. I had to tell everyone I walked into a door and got the black eye that way. I never even told Joe.” Maybe it was the way Pete was staring at him or talking about something Patrick had kept locked up, but it was making his eyes water enough that he had to keep blinking to stop it turning into something else. “I always liked being invisible at school because it meant I could do my thing in peace, but not to him. Makes it sound like love that way, though.”

“High school love is a different breed to the real thing. I'm sorry that happened to you.” Pete leaned down and kissed Patrick, one hand on his face the other by his hip. “I'm also sorry because I think I did the same thing to kids I went to school with. Fucked them, freaked out and then dated their sister.”

“That's awful.” Patrick was a lot younger than his sister, who he didn't really ever remember as an actual child, let alone in high school, but the thought of that guy dating Megan stung. “Guess there's two sides of being gay in high school.”

“Honestly, that was just one side of the rage I felt. I was fucked up in every way, that's just one of the ways it leaked out.” Patrick stroked the side of Pete's face with his knuckles. "I was a wreck until around twenty-five, that's when Andy cleaned me up, put me on the right tracks. I'm sure that guy feels just as shitty about what he did though.”

“Probably. I think that's why I never went looking for anything else though. I was happy being miserable and boring in college and I didn't really wanna have to deal with that kind of rejection again.” Knowing it wasn't about him, but also was, did confuse Patrick a lot. 

“I bet everyone believed you,” Pete said, smiling this time. Patrick gave him a confused look; he didn't get it. “About walking into a door. Sounds like something you'd do.”

“Maybe it had happened once in the past..." Patrick tried to tuck his own smirk away as Pete laughed at him some more.

 

Patrick figured that even if the relationship with Pete did end in the disaster that everyone presumed it would, at least he'd discovered that he was good at cooking. He was pretty awesome at it, or he could actually follow recipes from the cookbook his mom got him. It turned out to be cheaper too. 

“This reminds me about the stupidest thing you ever said to me,” Joe said, eating chunks of the the raw carrot that Patrick had so carefully chopped for the last fifteen minutes. 

“Is it the thing about the mushrooms?” Patrick asked. He had noodles boiling in a large pot and was preparing the veg to stir fry. Joe was such a fucking lucky roommate, Patrick was keeping him so well fed. “I just wanted to know whether vegans ate mushrooms or not.”

“Those are the kind of questions you keep between you and Google, my friend. Luckily I find your stupidity endearing, but some people might not be so cool with it.”

“It was only a question!” Patrick laughed. “Stop being so dramatic.”

“I'm just saying you should use your brain sometimes,” Joe’s smirk briefly turned cautious and Patrick nodded his head. They didn't get serious all that often, and it was awkward when they did.

“You know, I think I love him and everything,” Patrick admitted to Joe as they ate. He hadn't told Joe about his almost love of the past, but he told him everything otherwise. They were in a serious and dramatic mood, after all.

Joe swallowed his mouthful before responding. “Does he feel the same?”

“I don't think so. I don't think he'll let himself at the moment, but he does care. I know he does.”

“And that's enough?”

“For now, yeah.” Pete had a lot of secrets, Patrick knew that already, but he was willing to live side by side with them for now.

 

“I'm not into BDSM, it's gross,” Patrick informed Pete a few days later. Patrick was bound by the wrists to the headboard. He'd asked Pete if they could try it. He knew he'd have a chance to feel himself slip into that weird headspace. With Pete, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

“This isn't BDSM,” Pete said. His teeth was nipping at the sensitive skin of Patrick's stomach. His hands automatically flinched in the binding, but he couldn't move at all.

“The “B” in BDSM stands for bondage,” Patrick said. “So technically it is.”

Pete lifted his head, and stared at Patrick with his wandering brown eyes. “We don't have to do this if you don't want.”

“I do. I really do, please I'm sorry. It's just my stupid mouth again.” Patrick was quietened when Pete's lips touched his. The kissing helped, made him feel like he was going under. “Help me through this.”

“I got you.” Patrick just wanted to try things out, to see whether the subspace shit was legit. At least he trusted Pete. He wouldn't go there with anyone else.

Maybe is was nerves or the fact he was naked and tied to the bare wood headboard behind Pete's bed. Patrick felt exposed and excited. Pete's hands were firm on him, running down Patrick's ribs, over the softness of his stomach. 

He’d gotten used to sex with Pete, with it being this intense, fun, and only sometimes painful thing. He had a big dick and Patrick liked sucking it, even if it didn’t all fit in his mouth. Pete said the fun was watching Patrick try and that made him laugh. He felt like he laughed a lot during sex, maybe more than you were supposed to. Patrick didn’t know.

This time felt different. He didn’t try and push away the feeling of something pulling him under. Pete wasn’t rough, because he refused to be, but he was firm. It wasn’t like that time in the art gallery where Patrick had uselessly laid there, bent over and waiting. He felt like he handed Pete the control this time and it was being used because they wanted it.

Pete’s mouth was on Patrick. Hot and wet over his dick, pinching at the sensitive skin of his thighs with his teeth. He left red marks wherever he went, warm eyes flickering up to Patrick, flexing his wrists in the binds. The sounds of the room were starting to dull to the beat of his heart in his ears. That underwater sensation picking up.

As Pete’s tongue and fingers sunk inside Patrick’s body, slow and deliberate, he felt himself fade away once more. He let it happen this time, so that he almost lost himself a little. He could feel it all happening, but his usual anxiety-sick brain couldn't say anything, couldn’t think anything other than what was happening.

It took a long time for Patrick to come around after the sex. He’d come because he felt Pete wiping a towel over him, but he couldn’t remember it. Once Pete’s fingers had touched him he’d forgotten everything.

“I was probably babbling some crazy shit, but that was amazing.” Patrick wasn’t tied up anymore, but his wrists felt a little weak. He twisted them around, watching Pete watch him. “Did you have fun?”

“I like watching you get all heated, it’s hot,” Pete said. He stroked the side of Patrick’s face. Patrick realized Pete was fully dressed still, like he hadn’t done anything.

“I’m surprising myself by saying this, but thanks for not having sex with me. It was super-hot, what happened, or what I remember happening, but I don’t know how I feel about you, like, fucking me in that state.” Patrick kinda thought that’s what would happen, it’s what everyone wanted to do on the internet, but they all seemed older and kinkier than Patrick.

“I like having sex with you, not just your body,” Pete said. “Was it weird? I can't imagine it myself.”

“It was easy to let go once I did. I don’t remember much else.” Patrick sat up, still feeling kind of loose and floppy. “I feel like sex-jelly.” He laughed at himself, at his stupid words, as Pete smiled with him, ruffling Patrick’s hair.

Patrick had to sleep afterward. It was like his body was still in the sleepy state, but when he did wake up afterward, he felt oddly refreshed. Revitalized, almost. Pete, for once, was asleep beside him, but Patrick crept from the bed and made his way to the bathroom.

He wouldn't ever get over Pete's fancy shower. He could happily live under it forever, but instead he just indulged himself with a thick soapy shower wash and expensive shampoo before drying off and finding a t-shirt of Pete's folded in the corner. 

“I'm a sexually active, bondage-loving, subspace dwelling guy,” Patrick told his reflection, once he'd wiped the steam away. The thought was kinda cool, if borderline worrying. “I can't tell him I love him but I do.” Patrick whispered the last part because a) Pete could be awake and listening and b) it was really embarrassing to be saying it to his own reflection. 

Pete was still asleep when Patrick headed back over to the bed. He couldn't think about sleeping, but he didn't want to wake Pete when he hardly ever got any sleep. So he laid beside him, wide awake, with an almost giddy spirit. Patrick wrote a song in his head, almost panicking at the thought of losing it to sleep or his own forgetfulness. 

Pete woke up just before dawn and smiled at Patrick sleepily. He kissed his cheek, and leaned over him, to climb from the bed. Pete headed to the bathroom and Patrick listened to the pipes, clearing his throat so he could finally get the tune out in the open. 

Pete wandered back in with a towel around his waist and immediately went over to his current canvas. Admittedly, Patrick rarely glanced at the artwork because he didn't understand it, but he liked the routine of being in Pete's bed while he painted. Made him feel romantic and domesticated, like they really were a real couple.

“What are you humming?” Pete asked, after five minutes of mixing paint, still not wearing anything but a flimsy towel.

“Something I just wrote. It's totally the score to the coming of age drama that is my life right now,” Patrick said. “Maybe I'll compose if for my presentation piece for college. My grades are shitty, but I always score high on composition.”

“Sounds good to me,” Pete answered. Patrick stopped humming to listen to the sounds of paint scraping against the canvas. It was a cool sound, it made a good offbeat rhythm. “You haven't written anymore songs about my artwork, I'm kinda jealous.”

“I can't just write on the fly,” Patrick lied, but then realized he'd literally been composing out-loud. He got up from Pete's bed and padded over to where Pete was. “I mean, I can, _obviously,_ it's just… music is what helps me understand the world, but I think there are just some things I can't translate.”

“I know it's funny to tease you about your intelligence, but you're crazy talented, Patrick. Don't let it go to waste,” Pete said, seriously. He was looking at Patrick firmly, wearing nothing but his towel. 

“I know I'm talented like that,” Patrick shrugged, staring for the first time at Pete's artwork. It was still a muddled mess, but there was vibrant color now, smeared roughly with the palette knife. “It's a fairly useless talent, though. There isn't anything to do with it.”

“I dunno. You're good at scoring coming of age dramas, right?” Pete turned around, working on his art once more. 

“I'm getting good practice in,” Patrick admitted, before turning away, to climb back onto Pete's bed once more. “I'm gonna score myself a movie.”


	6. Chapter 6

Patrick's sister was pregnant, which meant that the holiday celebrations were going to be based mainly around her apparent baby shower. Patrick was neither thrilled or really understood the point of a party for a baby that didn't exist. Mostly it just added to the list of gifts to buy. 

He went shopping with Joe during the first week of December. He picked up a baby hat in yellow because he wasn't sure what his sister was having, and then more useless shit for his siblings that they'd probably not like anyway. He was a poor college student, they would cut him some slack.

“I don't know what to get Pete,” Patrick said, as they floated from one store to another. Joe was lazy and just ordered gift vouchers for everyone and so was done, but Patrick was aimlessly wandering around. “I don't even know what he likes.”

“You could always buy a big bow and put that on your head,” Joe offered but _no thank you._ Patrick wasn't a gift. He didn't know how to be sexy like that. 

“Maybe something a little better than that,” Patrick responded. “What do you get your girlfriends?”

“I'm free and single now,” Joe said. There'd been a few more conversations about nipple rings,but then he'd stopped again. “Usually chocolates and flowers.”

“I don't think that would work,” Patrick sighed, following Joe into another dollar store.

In the end Patrick found a mint condition of an _Appetite for Destruction_ vinyl at the store. Patrick could hardly believe he was spending money on it, but Pete would probably like it. He even got his act together and put out his part for the group assignment he'd been working on. They left it out in the end, which had him fuming on the inside, but at least he passed. Or at least, he didn’t fail completely.

Patrick was spending one final night at Pete's place before he went home for the holidays. Pete had been busy at the bar, but he'd taken the night off so they could be together. Patrick and Joe had made their own eggnog and he'd taken some round to Pete's. It was pretty potent.

“Don't worry, I got you a gift.” Pete handed Patrick a carefully wrapped parcel. Patrick eyed him curiously. “You can open it now or save it.”

“I'm gonna save it in case I don't like it. Easier to fake gratitude on the phone,” Patrick said, tempted to peel the tape away from the edges. He heard Pete snort from beside him and he looked up with a small smile. “No point lying.”

“Guess I'll save yours as well.” Pete didn't even have a tree, but just a small collection of gifts in the corner. Even Patrick and Joe had a Lego tree up, and they were just kids.

“Are you going to your parents at all?” Patrick asked. He knew they lived north of Chicago, not far from Glenview. 

“I'm going up for Christmas day, but I'm running the bar the day after. I don't really do family, so I don't mind.” Pete took a sip of the eggnog, eyes widening with every swallow. Patrick had been a little heavy handed with the booze, but Joe had read the measurements wrong. They were both to blame. 

There were things Patrick knew he wasn't allowed to discuss with Pete. Like family and work and friends. It felt like a lot, but they had time. He'd probably come around to the idea about it eventually. He was cautious, didn't want anyone to know. Patrick didn't know his opinion on it really, only that he liked being with Pete enough to not say anything. 

They were kissing on the couch, Patrick was feeling more than a little merry. Partly from the eggnog, partly from the fact that he was a little bit in love with Pete. Still not stupid enough to say anything though. Patrick considered himself to be a fairly standard-sized idiot, but not that much.

The feel of Pete on top of him kind of blocked out everything else. It was just... almost like he was missing something before this, but he didn't get it. He was so wrapped up in it, hands on Pete’s face, curling in his hair, that he didn't notice the sound of the door opening until it slammed shut.

“Fuck.” Pete looked up at the disturbance and then hopped off Patrick clumsily. “Andy, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“You weren't answering your phone.” Patrick sat up, cautiously pulling his t-shirt down. There was a man standing in front of them around Pete’s height, but a lot broader, with a thick gingery beard. He had the word vegan printed on his shirt. 

“I was busy, evidently,” Pete said cautiously. Patrick thought he looked nervous. “It isn't cool to just come barging in.”

“Then we need to have a chat at some point.” His eyes slid over to Patrick, who waved at him awkwardly. 

“Not now,” Pete said, and his voice was low. Patrick felt like there was a conversation going on without any words and he was clueless to it. So he just sat there, feeling a little drunk on eggnog, waiting for something to happen. “I’ll call you in a few days.”

“I'm holding you to that.” The man’s voice - _Andy_ \- was soft, though he looked mighty pissed at Pete as he left the apartment again, slamming the door behind him. Pete just laughed as he sat down beside Patrick again. 

“I'm way too wasted on your eggnog to compute that properly. Boy is he pissed at me though.” Pete rubbed at his face before slouching back against the couch with his eyes shut. 

“Is he mad about me being here or something else?” Patrick asked. He slumped against Pete, stroking his hand through his hair. Pete leaned into him, smiling with his eyes still closed. 

“Partly because of you, but I went rogue on something else. It's nothing to worry about, alright?” Pete's eyes opened, and he smiled at Patrick. It was warm and inviting, so Patrick just nodded and leaned in, kissing Pete some more.

 

Joe was pulling odd faces on the train ride out of the city and back to their hometown. Patrick was filling him in on the interrupted night with Pete, and he'd sat with rapt interest as Patrick explained everything that happened.

“Are you sure he's not in, like, a mob or anything? He ‘went rogue?’ what the fuck does that mean?” Joe asked. They’d taken up a fair amount of the small space in the carriage with their luggage, but Patrick's dad was picking them up in his truck from the station. 

“I don't know. I only know what he's told me, which is basically nothing.”

“You gotta talk to him, buddy. It's not, like, normal,” Joe said, as if Patrick didn't already know that. 

“I will after the holidays.”

Patrick had always flitted around between his parents two houses once they'd divorced, but since his dad remarried, he tended to roam mostly at his mom's. His dad had a new wife and he'd inherited more older siblings. It was all a little weird.

But his sister was already at his mom's house when his dad dropped him off, and her husband was lurking in the kitchen. Patrick didn't know him, he was an art dealer originally from New York. Patrick didn't know what that meant, nor did he particularly care. Patrick managed to sneak up the stairs and to his old bedroom, dumping his bags in the corner. 

It had only been like eighteen months since he'd called this bedroom his own, but already it didn't feel it. His mom had covered the blue painted walls with a shiny flower motif print and there was a computer desk in the corner now, stacked high with paperwork she was ignoring. 

Already he wanted to be back in the city. He wanted to be with Pete, trying new things and having fun. He wouldn't even mind being in the coffeehouse, with Brendon eyeing both him and everyone else that he deemed _hot as fuck._ Back home, Patrick felt like everyone was eyeing him up, sussing him out. 

Patrick's mom was a hysterical mess. Impending grand-parenthood, and Patrick back from college, had her in a frenzy of frantically baking basically every variation of a holiday cookie she could imagine. 

“Kevin's staying with your father to give your sister some space here,” she was telling him. “Or you guys can swap around. David's coming around for the baby shower so that will be _interesting._ ”

“Shouldn't she already have had the shower?” Patrick asked, watching her in the kitchen and eating one of her cookies. He didn't know how these things worked, but it seemed kinda selfish to turn Christmas into a party for a baby that hasn't been born yet. “Why is it even called a shower? Because we're showering the baby with gifts.”

_“Behave,”_ she warned him, fluttering past him in a puff of icing sugar. “Now why don't you tell me all about college instead.” 

All anyone bothered asking Patrick was whether he was enjoying college. He always nodded and muttered something similar to yes. He was fine, Joe was fine. Work was fine, he was doing well in his job. No he hadn't lost weight, _promise._

Patrick could have gone out with Joe and some of their old high school friends one night, but Patrick had declined. It made him feel weird, seeing old friends. It was like he was wearing an inflated mask of his own head, all his emotions magnified for them to see. He didn't want to hear about their amazing lives across the country. They were probably just watching Star Wars and drinking, but still, Patrick hadn't felt comfortable, so he'd stayed at home.

“Hey, Patrick.” Patrick looked up to see his brother approach. He was catching some peace and quiet away from talk of baby this and baby that, sitting on the porch in his coat and hat, a mug of coffee in his hands.

“Oh hi.” Patrick shifted to make room, and prepared himself for conversation. He’d been enjoying himself, thinking about Pete and how he really wanted to work out what he liked in bed. Wanted to have his subspace cake and eat it too. If he said that aloud to Pete, it would have him laughing for days. 

“How much are you hating school, then? It's written all over your face every time you're asked about it.”

“Maybe I'm just tired of people asking about it,” Patrick offered, which was half true. “No one expects much of me, I know that.”

“Don't be like that.” Patrick heard the eyeroll without looking at Kevin. It was only when he started talking out loud that he realized how much it sucked. “Not everyone is made out for the academic side.”

“I wouldn't quit, even if I wanted to because I know you all expect it.” Patrick figured his stubbornness made up for the weirdness in his head. “I kinda hate it, but I haven't got anything else going for me academically so why not?”

“You got anything else going for you then?” Kevin asked. Patrick had heard all about the receptionist he was dating. Miraculously she wasn't married, they were all impressed that he'd managed to fall for someone available this time. “A boyfriend?”

Patrick turned to Kevin with suspicion. Had he been spying on Patrick? Or was it a simple question. Patrick just shrugged in the end.

“I'm taking that as a yes.” His brother sounded happy for him. Patrick was weirded out by it. “Does he treat you good?”

“I mean, yeah?” he figured it wouldn't be a good idea to, like, mention how Pete had tied him to the bed and tripped him out of his fucking mind. “He’s good to me.”

Patrick was bummed out from the lack of faith his family seemed to have in him. He almost wished he’d agreed to meet up with Joe and the guys, just so he hadn't been stuck having that conversation with his brother outside.

He’d texted Pete a few times, but it hadn't been anything interesting. Pete was working at the bar most nights, dealing in the chaos of the holiday season. Patrick hadn't wanted to get in the way, but he could do with some cheering up.

Pete answered his phone after the second ring. There was the sound of distant music, like Pete was at the bar, but not in the main hub. He didn't sound pissed at Patrick for calling, and actually seemed happy to hear from him.

“How’s suburbia?” Pete asked, when they got through their hellos. Patrick held his hand to his chest and tried to stop the fluttering jut from hearing Pete’s voice. Totally lame.

“Shitty. My sister is, like, a month away from giving birth and no one will stop talking about it. Or when they do it's to ask if I'm _really_ enjoying college like I say I do.”

“Why lie if you don't like it?” Pete asked casually. “They could help advise you about a different path.”

“Because that's what they want,” Patrick stared up at his old ceiling, freshened to a bright white since his mom redecorated. “I’m the dumbass of the family and no one expected me to go to college, they thought I’d drop out in the first year, but I stuck with it. And I couldn't quit because that's what they think I'll do.”

“You're not a dumbass, don't call yourself that,” Pete said firmly, which was nice. Patrick soaked the complement up, even if it was a lie.

“I'm pretty stupid. Joe’s ex-girlfriend failed French in high school because she always copied my work. I do _not_ thrive in any kind of essay-based route. In theory, I’m okay, but the moment I have to apply myself to anything that isn't music related I just...go south. Plus I always say the first thing that comes into my head without thinking.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Pete laughed softly. It sounded to Patrick’s ears, like he was totally into Patrick. Pretty awesome. “You only have eighteen months left, right? Then they can never ask how college is going?”

“I guess.” Patrick huffed out loud, still feeling fed up. “It sounds pathetic when I say it out loud. It's super lame, I know.”

“Your self esteem is playing tricks on you, I think. Just because you're not academic, it doesn't make you an idiot.” Pete's voice was so nice on the phone, soothing as he spoke to Patrick. He sounded wise, but that was probably because he had nearly twenty years on Patrick. “Have you got the gift I got you nearby?”

“Yeah, why?” Patrick asked. It was in one of the bags at the base of Patrick’s bed, hidden from the prying eyes of his mother when she came in for ‘paperwork’. 

“Open it early. I wanna prove a point.”

“Okay, hang on.”Patrick rummaged around in his bags until he found the present. He pulled it out and back onto the bed again, hands brushing against the stiff packaging. “Are you sure you want me to open it?”

“Do it.” Patrick didn't need telling twice. He pushed his fingers beneath the taped edges and pulled the paper apart. There was a book beneath the wrapping, a history and encyclopedia on abstract art. Patrick laughed out loud.

“You're trying to teach me your profession,” he said. It was a heavy book, filled with glossy pages as he flipped through.

“More like trying to inspire you some more. You turned my artwork into a song, that was amazing. Dumbasses can't do that. Maybe this will help you out some more.” Patrick felt himself actually blush with Pete's words. The thought of Pete spending time picking this out was sort of awesome. If he was in the mob, at least he had a sensitive side.

“Thank you,” Patrick said, instead. “This really means a lot. Thanks.”

“You like it? I wasn't sure if it was too boring or not,” Pete asked, and this time he sounded slightly nervous. Patrick laughed breathlessly, nodding his head. 

“”Yeah. I really like it.”

 

His sister's baby shower was the next day, only two days before Christmas. Their house was full of family members that Patrick hadn't seen in years, and his dad, which was even weirder. His stepmother wasn't around, but maybe that would have been too much. Patrick endured more cutesy hugs and gushes from aunts, and awkward nods from cousins he vaguely remembered having baths with when he was six. 

“We decided to wait and see what we're having,” his sister informed them all, smiling and touching her bump. She's always been so small and skinny that she looked odd so heavily pregnant. Like a snake that ate a giant peanut.

“You're carrying low, means it's a boy,” one aunt said, but that got a disagreeable murmur from another one.

“No, it's definitely a girl. I can tell.” Patrick made his way out of the room. It really wasn't his place. It seemed his brother in law felt the same because Patrick bumped into him upstairs. He'd been using the bathroom, but Patrick had left his door open and he watched him step inside his bedroom. Patrick frowned and followed him, watching him pick the book up from the bed.

“You're in music college, right?” Patrick nodded, remembering he was an art dealer. 

“Yeah, my friend’s an artist. He thought I might be interested.” Better to call Pete a friend rather than anything else. 

“We’ve been getting a lot of non-figurative pieces running through the company at the moment. It all goes for big bucks,” he said, flicking through the book. “This is a good book, expensive. You friend obviously cares a great deal.”

“Do you get abstract? If someone paints something that I recognize then I can tell they’re good,otherwise it just looks like a mess,” Patrick admitted. He couldn't translate every piece into music. That would take way too long.

“if I can feel something from the art, I like it. It's gotta be emotive.” He clasped his hand on Patrick's shoulder as he left the room. 

Of course Kevin had to fuck things up for Patrick by telling everyone on Christmas Day that Patrick had a boyfriend. They were sitting around his mom's table, Patrick with his plate of veg and potatoes and veggie gravy. Suddenly all eyes were on Patrick, who was in the middle of complaining about the lack of anything decently meat-free during the Holiday season. 

“The artist friend?” his brother in law said, which made things even worse. 

“Oh Patrick! I'm so happy for you.” His mom was smiling with glee, like this was genuinely exciting for her. “Did you meet in college?”

“No. He's not in school. He's a local artist,” Patrick said nervously. “It's early days, there isn't much to say.”

“Oh but how did you meet?” His mom asked. Patrick caught Kevin’s eyes, but he just winked. Patrick hated his brother so fucking much.

“I was at a gallery. He was showing one of his pieces,” Patrick answered carefully. Nothing about Pete making fun of him, or meeting a week later at a bar. Going home with a stranger. Losing his virginity in a would-be one night stand. “He’s a good guy.”

Patrick refused to say anymore and his mood was soured slightly due to Kevin's outburst. Maybe he deserved it for always ragging on his brother's taste in married women, but still. He hadn't wanted people knowing. 

They'd all opened their presents and were falling asleep in the living room, so Patrick went to clear out the kitchen instead. He'd received books on Bowie, records, clothes from his mom that were, upon inspecting the label, from the junior section of the store. 

“Kevin was an idiot for doing that to you,” Patrick jumped at the sound of Megan’s voice. She lumbered into the kitchen and sat down. She looked tired and flat, if incredibly round. “You wanna talk about him?”

“I don't know what to say,” Patrick said. Megan, taking away the very loud pregnancy, was way calmer and discreet than his brother. She used to help him with homework when he was younger, would write down his notes for him so he'd have something to look at. 

“Just tell me about him.”

“He's outta my league, for sure. He wears a lot of black, has a ton of tattoos and he fights insomnia by painting. He plays soccer every Sunday morning and we go for coffee afterward.” Again, Patrick wasn't going to mention the sex they had. He didn't want to bring on early labor. 

“He doesn't sound like a college student,” she pondered out loud. “He's older than you, right? I know how it goes, Patrick. I was your age once.”

“He’s thirty-five.” if Patrick could tell anyone, it would be his sister. She was calm and wouldn't panic. “I know it's a big gap.”

“Patrick, you're not even twenty. He has no business hanging around you,” she told him softly. He understood that,and he shrugged.

“He says the same. He almost dumped me because of it.” Patrick remembered the conversation in the coffee-shop. How he had to beg Pete to see it from his side. “He owns a bar, but he won't let me go because of my age. I don't even know what it's called.”

“I won't tell you not to date him. I'm your big sister, not your mother. But be cautious, Patrick. The moment things are uncomfortable, leave him well alone.”

“You won't tell anyone, will you? I don't want it being a big thing,” Patrick asked, looking at Megan nervously. She nodded her head and he knew he could trust her. He trusted her over his brother, if nothing else.

 

Two nights later, he was finally able to hang out with Joe. He was ready to go back to the city now. Kevin had gone home, but his sister was waiting out the pregnancy at their mom's house. Patrick was tired of getting stuck in the middle of their nesting and excitement. Plus he missed Pete.

“You heard from lover-boy at all?” Joe asked, as they hung out in the old park that they used to go to all the time. Patrick still fit easily beneath the climbing frame, even if his ass was freezing from it. “I guess lover-man, makes more sense.”

“We've spoken on the phone and texted.” Patrick had spent most of his evenings flicking through the book Pete had bought him . He still wasn't sure that he understood abstract, but he liked some of the shit from the sixties, and had told Pete as such. Pete had clearly been busy, distracted with music in the background constantly, but attentive and interested in what Patrick had been saying.

“Right. Well, I was thinking that maybe we could go to his bar for New Year's. Everything is so fucking boring around here. I don't wanna stay any longer than we have to. Do you really wanna be around when your sister gives birth? Dude, they might make you watch.”

“No, they wouldn't,” Patrick laughed, they'd pack him off to his dad's if that was the case. “I promised Pete I wouldn't go to his bar. He doesn't want me there.”

“But that's weird, dude. Don't you see it?” Joe asked, and his voice was gentle as he nudged Patrick's side. He pulled Patrick up to his feet, too cold to sit around much longer. There was a diner nearby, that sold hot chocolate sweet enough to send Patrick into an induced coma. He could do with one.

“Yeah, I see it,” Patrick answered. “I figured it was all just about my age, not wanting his friends to find out. But hey, maybe you're right. He could be a part of the mafia.”

“That would be equally terrifying and insane. But we should go, right? You wanna go and if you suck his dick good afterward, I'm sure he won't be too pissed.”

“Dude, that's like not a bad idea,” Patrick said, thinking about it. Pete was probably desperate for it anyway. And Patrick didn't want to lose the skills that he'd only just learned to start honing. 

Patrick's dad drove them back to the apartment which saved another cramped trip on the train. He'd had to suffer another talk from his sister, telling him to call her if he was ever worried. Patrick reminded her that a newborn would probably stop her worrying about him, but she flipped him off with her weirdly swollen fingers. 

Patrick had told Pete he was coming home early, and they'd agreed to meet after soccer practice the next Sunday like they always did. He didn't tell him he'd be going to the bar later. Joe had found it in next to no time, a quick search of Pete's name had brought it up. Patrick hadn't thought to do that. 

Patrick was excited to meet Pete at the bar, if nervous because he already knew he'd probably be pissed. Joe had fixed him some better fake ID as a Christmas gift though so they shouldn’t have as much trouble. Patrick had got Joe a self-help book on finding the perfect soul mate. He got it way back, when he'd broken up with his girlfriend, but he got over it too quick for the gift to be much use. But whatever, he had it for the next break up.

They ended up in a super trendy part of the city. Lots of rich kids and expensive buildings. Patrick felt nervous as they lined up outside. It was heaving with people, but Joe had already bought them entry. Something to do with knowing people. Patrick didn’t know anyone interesting that could get them into clubs.

“It’s gonna be packed. We probably won’t even find him,” Patrick said, trying to calm himself down. This felt like a bad idea mixed with adrenaline and end of year excitement. Patrick’s general nerves in any form of social situation was amplified. He needed a drink, or a Xanax. “I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“Not yet, bud. We’re not in the bar yet,” Joe said, unhelpfully.

The bar was _packed._ Bodies everywhere. Patrick felt like he was suffocating, wished he was taller so he wasn’t stuck staring at everyone’s chests. Everyone seemed so glamorous inside, and about five times as drunk as Patrick had ever been. He stuck close to Joe as he bought them drinks, and then shoved it down his throat as fast as it was handed to him.

“Just something to take the edge off,” Patrick said. Joe laughed, but the music was so loud they couldn’t hold a conversation.

Patrick already felt like he was intruding. This place wasn’t what he imagined. It was loud bass, glaring lights and a huge dance floor, packed with people grinding. This was Pete’s bar, he owned it. Patrick couldn’t quite believe it. The only place he knew Pete was contained to coffeehouses or their separate apartments, where they could hear each other talk.

Someone yanked on Patrick’s elbow and he looked up to see Pete. He looked furious, lips in a thin line, dark eyes wide. He turned to Joe, who shrugged, before Patrick was being dragged away. He was just grateful Joe was following right behind.

“Look dude, he’s like a minute away from a straight up anxiety fit. I wanted to come, I got us in. Don’t take it out on him,” Joe said to Pete, when they were shoved into a back room, Pete’s office probably.

“I fucking told you to stay away, Patrick. Did you not fucking hear me?” Pete kicked out at the closest door and Patrick looked to Joe instead, too scared to actually be upset. When Pete turned to him, he bit his lip nervously.

“Yeah, I heard you,” Patrick answered. “Its New Year's. We wanted to celebrate. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“Well it is. I need you to leave. We can talk it out at another time.” Pete’s fury had shifted again, and his anger turned to stone. It scared Patrick more than the hot red anger of before.

“Dude, you can’t be serious,” Joe said, and he stepped between Pete, and Patrick who was hunched against a wall. “A dire lack of self-esteem stops him saying anything, but I’m not letting you treat him like this.”

“Joe, it's fine,” Patrick muttered, not really wanted to feel like a loser. Or anymore of one. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It kinda does, bro. He only likes you when no one else is around, you’re worth more than that.” Joe patted his shoulder, before turning to Pete. Maybe Patrick would have to buy him another gift, for being an awesome friend.

“That isn’t true,” Pete rubbed at his forehead. He turned to Patrick, who was finding it really hard to look back at him. “You know I care about you.”

“Sometimes it’s just…” Patrick stopped talking as the door swung open again and another man walked in. He was tall, thin, and had eyes directly on Pete.

“Pete, we have a packed bar, right now. Stop hiding out in here.”

“I’m just trying to sort some shit out right now, Mikey. Can you just give me a moment?” Pete held his hand up to the guy, who stared from Pete, to Joe, to Patrick.

“You always know where to find me,” the guy said, not so sweetly, before turning and closing the door behind him. Pete’s jaw was clenching and his face was red. Patrick wished he’d never been talked into coming.

“Patrick, I told you right at the beginning that my life was complicated, that there was a reason I didn’t want you around this part of me.” Pete’s voice was soft, but Patrick just felt a sadness; wet on the outside and in.

_“You always know where to find me,”_ Joe repeated the words of the guy that just left, as Patrick tried to understand what Pete was telling him. “What the fuck does that mean? It doesn’t sound casual.”

“That’s because it isn’t.” The door swung open again and the guy that had _just_ left waltzed back in. He had a smug look on his face, but the look he gave Pete was bitter. Patrick looked at him once and then down at his feet. He wanted to cry, even if he didn’t understand why. “Is this it, then? This is the reason everything has gone to shit recently.”

“Things had gone to shit long before I met Patrick. We were… I told you the truth before I met him. And we were separated long before I even set eyes on him.” When Patrick chanced a look up, Pete was looking at him seriously, like he was wishing himself a billion ways out of the conversation.

“I really don’t understand what’s going on,” Patrick said. He looked at Joe, but he was shrugging and looking almost as uncomfortable as Pete.

“Hi, my name is Mikey.” he man held his hand out to Patrick, who didn’t take it. He shrugged and slipped his hand into his back pocket, looking Patrick up and down. “Nice to finally meet the distraction my husband’s been fucking these past few months.”

There was silence. Patrick wasn’t sure he heard him, only when he looked at Pete, he had his head in his hands. Patrick didn’t get it, not at all. Pete wasn’t married, Patrick had asked him outright. He _wasn’t._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the amazing comments on the last chapter! Time for a change in perspective.

The thing about marriage was that Pete never believed in the whole bullshit thing in the first place. It was good for a convenience, for the sex he got and the bar he shared, but the rest of it? Nah. Pete wasn't into dinner dates and lifelong commitment. For the record, neither was Mikey.

They weren't in love. Mikey was good in bed, but he could get it elsewhere. Officially they'd broken it off six months ago, but they had sex. They did it on Pete's desk, in their old house, when Mikey’s new boyfriend wasn't around. Pete couldn't pinpoint what it was that stopped him disconnecting entirely. Maybe it was the ease; knowing that Mikey was always there. Always available. 

“I'm not doing this again,” Pete said, the final time. Mikey was naked in the bed they used to share, staring up at Pete as he pulled on his clothes meticulously. “We gotta stop doing this because it's pointless.”

“Is it?” Mikey smirked. He'd always been that way, cutting humor that bordered on nasty when it was the two of them. Pete hadn't really cared. It'd been about sex and money for him. It was part of the deal. “When are you divorcing me?”

“I'm not giving up the bar.” It had been Pete's dream. He'd wanted it and Mikey gave it to him, split 40-60% in Mikey's direction If Pete was to sell up, he'd lose the one thing he'd always desired. He'd probably be a lot richer for it, but that was the last thing he wanted. Nothing would work and so they existed like they did, worked together, fucked together, but for all intents and purposes, to everyone else, they were simply working through an amicable break up. “We can divorce; split up every asset we've ever shared, but that was my dream. That's my bar.”

“Paid with mostly my money. Why should I lose?” Mikey rolled over, pulling at his phone charging on the nightstand. He ignored Pete, who looked for his shoes, socks, and then finally left the room.

It had been later that night that Pete had gone out to a different bar, to check out competition and maybe pick someone up for the night. He'd found Patrick, trying to ramble his way out of a disastrous come-on in the restroom. Pete hadn't remembered him properly until they were back at the bar, recognizing him as the kid trying to touch his art at the gallery. 

And Pete knew it was wrong, because this kid was green as anything, but he wasn't Mikey, and that was enough. He took him back to his place, drunk and unsteady on their feet. Patrick was shaking with anticipation, claiming he was a virgin, that it was his first time. He had an awesome voice when he was drunk, Pete could feel it in his own chest, with every stammering mutter. Pete couldn't say if it was more of a case of Patrick giving it up for him, or Pete taking it without question.

He didn't slept that night. Didn't ever really, but he watched Patrick as dawn broke over the city. He was young, he'd mentioned being nineteen, but Pete hadn’t been certain until he’d found Patrick's college I.D in his back pocket and his age had matched up. It was over with and Pete had done it. But then, everyone he knew had done it at least once before, fucked someone below the suitable age bracket. At least Patrick was legal and no one would ever have to know. 

Then Patrick had turned up a week later, in the jacket Pete had sent him away in. He looked terrified but determined. With no booze in his system, Pete liked the look of him more. He was soft, layered with a gentle covering of chubbiness. He looked so much out of his depth, that Pete liked him all the more. He didnt know anyone with that kind of vulnerability anymore.

And maybe, so maybe, Pete was a dick. Maybe it was wrong to have this teenager in his bed, because God knows he should be trying things out with a kid his own age, but Pete hadn't had anyone real in forever. He'd had Mikey for three years, playing just as many games as Pete did in their relationship. Before him there'd been men, a lot of them, but none of them had lasted past the two month mark. They'd been bodies in his bed and nothing more. 

Patrick felt like a real, complicated, and kind person. It wasn't a personality Pete understood. He slept a lot, and he looked hurt when Pete said something too sharply. He wasn't cut out for the world Pete was in, but he kept trying to insert himself in it, and Pete was fascinated by it. 

He liked it a little too much, watching this kid sleep peacefully in his bed as he painted. Pete's life had stagnated in the past year. He'd been separated and alone for months and the thought of shaking it up was enough to set his stomach to nerves. 

 

When Andy showed up at Pete's apartment a few days after Pete had last seen Patrick, he knew he was in deep shit. Taking Patrick to Andy's gallery probably wasn't wise, fucking him in his office was even worse. He could see it all over his friend's face.

“I have cameras in my gallery, I have cameras in my office,” Andy explained, sitting on Pete’s couch and sipping his coffee. Pete rubbed hands over his face, and berated himself stupidly. “I saw way too much. Is he even legal? You can't be serious with this.”

“He is, I promise he is. I checked his ID,” Pete admitted. He removed his hands and looked at his friend. Andy had seen him through everything, and this felt like just another way he was fucking up in his friend's eyes. “He's nineteen.”

“Jesus, Pete.”

“I know.” Pete tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “I'm starting to feel like I needed someone like him in my life after Mikey. He's got so much color to him...it's hard to explain. He's naive and kinda dumb, but really cute.”

“Does he know about Mikey?” Andy asked. He knew everything of course. Had been against the marriage in the first place, knowing it wasn't coming from love or anywhere like it. He'd only stood by Pete because that was his job. He was a friend; a sponsor. His opinion was generally the only one that Pete would ever listen to. 

“I told him I wasn't married,” Pete said, watching Andy's eyes roll all the way back. “He meant had I ever married someone because I loved them and wanted to bind myself to them forever. I haven't done that.”

“But you did marry someone. You _are_ married, asshole.” Andy sighed heavily. They never seemed to have conversations like this the other way around. Andy always made decisions cautiously, with thoughts rather than his own emotions at the centre. “Have you thought about divorce at all?”

“I can't see how it would work without me missing out. I don't wanna sell my share of the bar. He can keep anything else. He won't sell up, it's how he meets most of his fuck buddies. We’re not sleeping together anymore either, I cut that shit out when I met Patrick.” That made Patrick sound like someone special, someone important. Pete reminded himself that Patrick was a kid, nothing serious. “I don't know how it's going to end.”

“Badly is my guess,” Andy sighed, softly. “Look, I'm always gonna have your interests at heart. I think staying in a marriage that has no meaning, and dating a teenager that has no idea of the first point, is a really shitty idea.”

“I know it is,” Pete admitted. He'd had older men screw him up in the past. He knew it was shitty to do the same to Patrick, who would never get his virginity back from Pete, or anything else he'd already stolen. “I should end it.”

Andy nodded assertively at that. “You really should. It isn't cool, Pete. Not in any way.”

Pete had been bummed out about ending it all through soccer practice that Sunday. He didn't know why. He'd tried to keep his feelings for Patrick on the back-burner, something to think about at another point. They weren't anything serious just yet, and he knew he needed to make sure things stayed that way. 

Patrick had shown up still looking half asleep, but the more Pete looked at him the better he felt. Patrick said things that didn't really make sense, and it seemed as if a lot of things in life went over his head. He made Pete laugh, half the time without meaning too and he felt good. It seemed, to Pete, like maybe Patrick _was_ good for him. They were having fun, and Andy didn't need to know. So long as he didn't fuck Patrick in front of any cameras again.

 

Telling Gabe was a little easier. He was the one friend Pete had that wasn't judgmental. He seemed to find the chaotic mess of Pete's life amusing. He explained the relationship with Patrick over drinks at Gabe’s place, and didn't care when his friend laughed at him. 

“You're dating a college kid? Whoo, bet his parents are real pleased about that.”

“I doubt they know. It isn't super serious,” Pete said, reminding him of what he told Patrick. He couldn't let it go too far, not when there was so much at stake. “I did take his virginity though.”

“My God, you're plowing through that kid’s milestones.” Gabe laughed like it was funny. Pete kinda knew it wasn’t, but also that Gabe was the only friend of his that would react this way.”Nineteen is young these days. People don't like age gaps anymore.”

“With every reason.” Pete had judged people he knew in the past, for screwing nineteen _and_ younger. “He does seem young, but I also think it's his personality. I dunno….he’s kept himself deliberately naive, to stop himself hurting I think. He's kinda a dumbass, but smart. He's a smartass and a dumbass. If that's not fucked up, I don't know what is.”

“And...you sound like you like him, a lot,” Gabe pointed out. “Kinda sucks that you're married.”

“We’re separated.” Pete pressed his lips tight to the glass. He wanted to be able to say that he wished he'd never met Mikey, never agreed to marry him. But then, if he hadn't he'd still be nothing but a struggling artist. He wouldn't own the bar of his dreams, and that was enough. Having his bar made the shitty marriage worth it. 

He lied to Andy and told him that he'd finished it with Patrick. There wasn't anything else he could do. Patrick was worth it for the time being, Pete actually felt less like a shell of a person and a real thing with emotions when he was with him. Maybe it was arrogance, but he liked the way Patrick looked at him; thought about him. 

 

Andy volunteered at a detox center three days a week. Pete had known him for years, and it had been Andy who had cleaned him up nearly a decade ago. He wasn’t his official sponsor, but Pete came to think of him that way. If he ever had a bad day, felt like he was slipping, Andy was always the first port of call. It's why he often found himself joining him at the center, giving phony talks himself, to try and give back a little to the man that helped him so much. 

“There's a guy that's booked himself in,” Andy said, as they made their way through the parking lot. “I think he's your brother in law?”

“Gerard?” Pete answered. He didn't know the guy well at all. They didn't do families, didn't have a wedding where they invited a huge variety of people. Mikey saw his brother, but Pete hadn't known he'd relapsed. “I had no idea.”

“I recognized the name more than anything. I think he's seeking help before it gets worse for him, but it might be good for you to check in with him.” 

Pete wasn't so sure. He didn't even know the guy that well, but he nodded his head. He was here to help Andy out, and considering he was going against his best friend in a huge way otherwise, he couldn't back out now. 

The center had areas for inpatients as well out an outpatient service. Pete usually hung out with the day-trippers, trying to find words to say to help them in ways he'd been helped before. Even showing up was a start, but he knew it was hard doing it alone. This time, he signed himself into the inpatient faculty, flashing his ID and asking for guidance toward wherever Gerard was. He found him eventually, sitting in an armchair, looking out of the window.

“Hi Gerard,” Pete waved awkwardly, sitting down beside him. Gerard smiled, but it seemed to take a few seconds for him to realize who Pete actually was. “Yeah, it's Pete. Your brother in law.”

“Last I heard the marriage was over,” Gerard said. He looked like he'd gained a little weight since the last time Pete had seen him, which was, admittedly, nearly two years ago. “Are you in treatment?”

“We’re still thinking up a settlement,” Pete offered, not really knowing how much Mikey had divulged. “I help out at the day-center sometimes. I heard you'd checked in and thought I'd say hi. Sometimes it's good to see someone you recognize. Even vaguely.”

“I came before it got worse,” Gerard answered. His pale hands were cupped neatly in his lap, his legs crossed. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. “I'd been topping my dose up when I felt my mood getting low. I've been nearly tripling it for a month. Figured it was time to sort it out before I fell down the slope again.”

“It's awesome that you knew to seek help before it got worse.” Pete was by no means an actual therapist or sponsor. Andy had been an addict years before they met, but he'd never come to Pete with nerves or the need for advice. He had a separate sponsor instead. Pete didn't know if he should be offering advice to Gerard at all. Was he allowed?

“You're an addict, right? I remember Mikey saying something about it,” Gerard offered. Pete clenched his teeth, holding back his anger. Addiction was personal to him, he didn't want anyone talking about it. Gerard seemed to get this, because he held up a hand. “Sorry. I know myself I don't like people talking about my disease without me.”

“It's alright.” Pete shook his head. “I was big into the party seen in my early twenties. Coke, mainly. It led to some other unhealthy habits, but I had a friend clean me up. He detoxed me in his own apartment, but I was ready for it at that point. You can't help someone that doesn't want it. Sounds like you do.”

“I have a daughter,” Gerard admitted, and his eyes closed. “I love her a lot. She's my world and I don't wanna let her down. It's fucking hard.”

“Use her as your strength.” Oh god, was that lame? Pete couldn't tell. 

“I'm trying.” Gerard nodded his head and then opened his eyes. They were a little red rimmed and he looked away as he tried to compose himself. “Isn't it hard for you? Being sober and running a bar?”

“Not really. Seeing all the drunkass mistakes happening on my premises is pretty sobering. I do drink, which I know is against a lot of practices for addiction recovery, but it was never an issue for me. The bar centers me, keeps me stable a lot of the time.” 

“You're a good guy, Pete. I'm sorry for the day you won't be my in-law.” Gerard laughed, flashing his tiny white teeth. Pete shrugged, not really sure how to take the compliment. 

“Does Mikey know you're here? We're not really on talking terms, but I don't wanna say anything accidentally.”

“He doesn’t, actually. Usually he's one of the first I'd tell, but I want this to be lowkey. I would appreciate it staying between us. Only my wife knows I'm here, otherwise.”

“It isn't a problem.” Pete stood up, and then thought for a moment. “I mean, like. This is probably inappropriate, but I can give you my number if you like. When you get out we can chat some more.”

Gerard immediately nodded. “Like a sponsor, but not so...official.”

“Yeah. Talking to someone casually really does help.” This couldn't get out to Mikey either. For whatever reason, Pete's life suddenly seemed flooded with lies.

After visiting Gerard, Pete spent the rest of his time at the day-center, in the outpatient room. He drank bad coffee and let a middle aged woman flirt with him. She distracted Pete from the other things clouding his head, but by the time the day was over with, he was ready to leave. He was exhausted by it all.

Seeing Patrick that night helped Pete more than anything. He could have painted, but he was too drained, and instead he spent time with this crazy guy, and listened to him talk about how much he hated college, and the kid at work that checked him out shamelessly. He was such a different person to what Pete was used to, and he knew he had to make sure Patrick stayed clear of everything to do with his actual life. He couldn't have him wrapped up in it for a variety of reasons, the age gap was a good cover.

 

Gabe broke the news to Pete at their next soccer practice. Pete had dealt with Patrick's demands the previous night, wanting more of Pete than he could possibly give, and also admitted that he was, maybe, possibly into the idea of submissive sex. It gave Pete a fucking headache and he was looking forward to hanging out with Saporta and just forgetting about his issues. 

“So, like, I applied for this job in Santa Barbara a few months back and I got the call,” Gabe was saying. Pete was skimming the foam from his coffee, half listening, and then looked up so hard it hurt.

“As in California? What the fuck?”

“You know I don't like to stay anywhere too long, and I can’t deal with another Chicago winter. It's too fuckin' cold,” Gabe said. He looked sheepish, like he'd been holding onto the information for a while. Pete was in shock, muscles tensed and heart beating fast. 

“Oh wow. Okay, congrats.” Pete held back in ways he wouldn't have in the past. He took deep breaths and a sip of his coffee. If this is what Gabe wanted, then Pete would be happy. Pete had a lot of friends, but Gabe was the one he could tell everything to. He could discuss Mikey, Patrick and everything else without judgment, the thought of losing that was kinda awful.

“I feel like a douche for holding back the info,” Gabe admitted, leaning his long arms on the table. “But if things go to shit for you, why not come with? You always liked Cali, right?” Pete had, but he had his bar here, and Andy. Pete couldn't imagine a life with that amount of distance between his friend. His relationship with Patrick was starting to feel like something palpable too.

“I might have to hold you to that,” Pete said, but he felt an overwhelming sadness. He often felt like he didn't feel much at all the majority of the time, but this felt like a crashing shove right beneath his ribs. “How long until you leave?”

“It starts in six weeks. Just enough time to throw my shit in storage and find somewhere down there. I'm gonna need the baddest, most motherfucking awesome leaving party though,” he smirked at Pete, looking relieved that Pete wasn't tossing anything at his head. “You know anywhere I could host it?”

Pete finished his drink, and smiled. He had to be happy for his friend, and not think about himself. “I'm sure we could pencil you in at my place.”

 

The club was heaving that night, and Pete kept himself busy to stop thinking about Gabe’s move. He knew his friend wasn't one to really settle, but he'd been in Chicago four years now, finally moving back after they graduated college together. He'd kinda taken it for granted. 

“We need a new DJ. I don't like Suarez.” Pete looked up from where he was checking his phone in his office to see Mikey standing in front of him. He was looking good, fine bone structure glittering in the low light. His shirt was too short, showing off a thin strip of skin between his jeans and hemline. Pete tried not to be distracted and crossed his arms.

“I'm not firing Suarez on a whim. He's good, the crowd love him.” The remixes could be a little… off-center, but he generally saved those until the last moments, when everyone was too drunk to care. “Stop doing this.”

“Doing what?” He smiled, eyes lighting up some more. Man, this was always a fucking game to him. It used to be hot, fighting him back; playing dirty. Usually in the bedroom, where Pete actually had control over Mikey. “You know, there's a little rumor going around that you’ve found some new entertainment. It's not true is it? Did our vows mean nothing?” The sarcasm was dripping, like bitter blood from Mikey's lips.

“Like you care either way,” Pete pushed up from the desk. He breathed deep. He didn't want to start anything, didn't want to say anything that might start a fight he couldn't back down from. He'd always had a short fuse at times, he was trying to fix it. “If you don't mind.” Pete pushed past Mikey, and out into the main area. 

In the actual bar, no one cared who he was and he was able to sink into the atmosphere. The music was bouncing and the lights were going, Pete watched it all until his head was thumping, staring directly up at the lights. 

“You've been acting like a fool all night,” Pete looked up to see Vicky staring at him from behind the bar. Closing had been and gone, and nearly everyone had left aside from the two of them. The floor was sticky, there was the usual smell of alcohol and sweat that sneaked in every night after closing. The cleaners would clear it all away in the morning, ready for the next night. “Staring at the lights like you're looking for God.”

“I'm not sure about that,” Pete laughed, but he rubbed at his tired face.

“I heard a rumor that you're getting rid of Suarez.”

“We're not.” It was too late for this; Pete was too tired to be dealing with the drama Mikey was leaving in his wake. “That isn't happening.”

“Good. He doesn't deserve that.” Vicky assessed him coolly from the other side of the bar, cloth wiping back and forth in the same spot, over and over. “It’s just an M-Way power play then. You guys have gotta make up at some point, or we’ll all be out of a job.”

“You're good, Victoria,” Pete winked at her, but then stood up straight. She could lock up for the night, he was going home.

Pete didn't sleep because that's just not what he did, but he went home and started on a new canvas. It wasn't anything good, but he thought it summed up his ‘never get married for money’ thoughts pretty well. He laid in bed for three hours and slept for an hour and a half. That was enough for him. He grabbed the painting from the night before and dumped it in the trash before he left for the day. 

 

“I heard about Gabe leaving,” Andy said cautiously over lunch. He'd just come back from a morning at the clinic, as Pete finished up signing off on the paychecks for the month. He was taking Patrick out that night, to clear his head of the shit inside it. Patrick technically was bad for him, but he made him feel so good that Pete couldn't help it. 

“He always liked Cali. It isn't much of a surprise,” Pete shrugged. He didn't want to get too down in the dumps about it, because who was he to hold his friend back? But he hadn't been able to face his friend since the news. “We’re gonna be a man down on the soccer team now though. Wanna join?”

“I’ll pass.” Soccer was not Andy's thing, even if he was the fittest guy Pete knew. “You holding up okay?”

“I'm fine.” Pete batted a hand, leaning back when the waitress dumped two coffees in front of them. “It’s been a long time, dude. I don't immediately look for something to snort the moment I'm stressed.”

“I wasn't implying that,” Andy said calmly. “I'm just offering support because you've got a lot going on. Has that kid you were seeing stayed away?”

“Yeah,” Pete lied easily. “I don't know what to do about Mikey. Any time I spend around him I actually want to strangle him, and it's the same for him too. We're gonna end up with each others belts around our necks.”

“You already know your options, Pete,” Andy said. He was always honest, but in a nice way. “Sell your half to him, divorce. Use whatever settlement you get to help fund your next venture.”

“But it isn't fair,” Pete said. “This always felt like my bar, not his. Until we broke up and now he's there every night, threatening to fire adequate members of staff just to piss me off.”

Andy nodded, sipping his coffee. People were looking at him, at his tattoos and muscular body, but he didn't seem to notice. “He didn't marry you for money. Sometimes I think you forget that.”

“He knew I wasn't interested in that,” Pete insisted. “I never hid the reason.”

“Doesn't stop people hoping though, does it?”

 

Taking Patrick out that night was all Pete needed to do to have a good time. He felt like a different person with the kid, like he wasn't involved in any of the messed up stress that was occupying his thoughts a majority of the time. With Patrick, he wasn't married with a stress-inducing constant battleground of a bar, and he wasn't about to lose his best friend to another city. He was just Pete.

“I swear college has been nothing but a downward ride for me,” Patrick was saying, sitting up in Pete's bed. He was naked, but with a sheet covering him as Pete looked at him from behind the easel. “I’m good at music, I understand it, I know how to make things sound good, but I can't do the rest of it.”

“Are you flunking the exams?” Pete asked, curious. Patrick was smart in his own way, but he had a shit-load of anxiety, which was plain for everyone to see. Pete didn't understand why no one had helped him out with it before.

“I get nervous,” Patrick admitted. “And I hardly made any friends this semester. I just feel like I made a really bad decision, but I know it's too late to back out now. I'm half-way through.”

“If it makes you miserable you shouldn't continue,” Pete offered, but he knew that was a terribly unhelpful thing to say.”

“That's what Joe said. But he's naturally smart, it just comes to him and he doesn't understand.” Patrick flopped dramatically down on the bed. Pete just watched and smiled, keeping his laughter to himself. When Patrick finally pulled himself up again, he stared at Pete. “Did you go to college for art?”

“My parents would not have allowed that,” Pete said, moving so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “I was poli-sci. They wanted me to be a lawyer, but I graduated and cut ties. Ended up working in this tiny gallery. At first I was just cleaning up after the artist, but I kinda fell in love with it. I was never interested in painting objects or buildings, I always wanted to see emotions on the paper. I was always interested in painting, I did it all the time to calm down as a kid, but I guess he taught me about the technicalities.”

“I guess if you had gone to law school you wouldn’t have fallen into the drug scene,” Patrick said, removing Pete from the romantic flourish he was giving his memory. He was right about that and he nodded, Patrick's warm hand on the small of his back. “Although Joe says all the quality shit comes from law students, so maybe not.”

“Is he into that shit?” Pete asked. He hadn't met the guy, but he'd heard enough about him from Patrick either way. He didn't seem like a particularly wild guy.

“No. He smokes weed like once every few months, but he tried edibles last year and I had to look after him for a whole weekend it fucked him up that bad. I think it put him off it.”

“Yeah. I never liked anything I couldn't snort,” Pete said, looking to Patrick to question his expression. He was staring at Pete placidly, completely clear of any judgmental expression. “I've been clean nine years now.”

“Wow, that's amazing.” Patrick's whole face brightened up and he leaned up to hug Pete. He was all warm soft skin as he held himself against Pete. It felt more intimate than anything else. When Patrick started to laugh, Pete pulled away curiously.

“What's so funny?”

“Oh I was just thinking, you haven't touched drugs since I was, what, ten? That's amazing.”

“You're an asshole,” Pete said, but he was laughing too and pushing Patrick down onto the bed. “I didn't know dumbasses could count backwards.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm away for the next 2 weeks so may not be able to post, but I'll be back on the normal schedule afterwards :)

Pete was back at the rehab center a few days later, and called in to see how Gerard was doing. He looked a little less black under the eyes, but he was still an awful white shade. He smiled at Pete as he approached, sitting back from everyone in the day room.

“How are things?” Pete asked, taking a seat. He caught the eye of a man staring broadly at him from across the room, but he looked away at the last moment.

“Okay. My wife came up to see me yesterday and that felt like motivation...like there was a spark lit inside. Need to get better for her and my daughter.”

“Are you in therapy?” Pete asked, and then wondered if that was too personal. He held his hand up as an apology. “Sorry dude. It's just the one thing that helped me stay clean.”

“I am, but I've been with her a long while. I thought I might switch.”

“You’ll know what's right for you. I swapped to someone new when I got seriously sober. I felt like I got too attached, and it worked out better.” Pete shrugged, resting back in the armchair.

“Are you doing good, Pete? You look well.” Gerard turned to him, still smiling. “My brother hasn't destroyed you completely.”

“He's been trying,” Pete laughed. “But I probably deserve it. Should never had married him, not when it wasn't genuine.”

“It was for him,” Gerard said, but Pete shook his head.

“I know he had feelings for me, but I always made my feelings known...I never strung him along. Maybe he thought getting hitched would change things for us, but it made it worse. He was mad I couldn't love him, and I was mad because he held all the power. Part ownership of a bar is hell when he holds everything against me.”

“He never wanted to own a bar until he met you,” Gerard answered, but Pete knew that already. “Maybe he still doesn’t.”

“I couldn't love him like he did me, so he has the power. He won't give it back. I know I need to deal with it eventually, but I'm trying to find rationality when it doesn't come naturally to me.” Pete could feel his blood pressure rising just at the thoughts running around his head.

“He's a stubborn pain in the ass,” Gerard admitted. “But I'm sure when the time comes you’ll be able to work things out.”

Pete nodded along. “I hope so. He deserves to be happy too. He's with someone else now, I think.”

“I...didn't know that,” Gerard said, looking surprised. “I guess he didn't want his big brother knowing. Are you dating someone?”

“There is someone.” Pete thought to Patrick and smiled. He was so...Pete didn't know, just kind of this bubble and when they were together, Pete felt like he was free from the suffocating ties of his own life. “It's a little complicated. There's an age gap so we’re trying to keep it lowkey for now.”

“He's a lot younger?” Gerard asked, and Pete nodded. That was a fucking understatement.

 

 

Pete sucked up the grief he was feeling over Gabe’s would-be abandonment and started to help him pack up his apartment. They'd met years back at college, and they'd been friends ever since. Gabe had moved after college, back to New York, as Pete snorted his way through the party scene, but he'd been back five years now. And he'd accumulated a lot of junk in that time.

“I swear you're like a fucking hoarder,” Pete insisted, pulling out old textbooks he vaguely remembered from college. They'd be at least thirteen years old by now.

“Nah, I just develop strong emotional attachments to inanimate objects.” Gabe hopped his long legs over two stacked boxes, mostly filled with nicknacks. Pete was the opposite, he'd been in his apartment six months now and still only had the essentials. “You never talk about him.”

“Who?” Pete was cautiously plucking through the books, remembering key words from all those years ago. He then dumped them in the trash pile, and moved onto a collection of ancient pens.

“That hot little student of yours. I wish I was fucking a nineteen year old. It'd beat being here with you.”

“It's complicated,” Pete admitted. “He was, like, completely inexperienced when we first got together.”

“Yeah, I'm not seeing the complications in that.”

“He leans toward being submissive in the bedroom, which would be all well and good if there didn't already feel like a gigantic power imbalance already. I'm trying to get him to discover this shit naturally rather than dominating him, because that's kinda gross right?”

“Is it? He's an adult, right?” Gabe asked, and Pete remembered that he hadn't had a serious partner in forever.

“He's not an adult,” Pete muttered. He wished he had someone sensible to talk this out with, but all his sensible friends would tell him to stay well away from Patrick. “I try really hard these days to be a good honest person, but I'm hardly honest with anyone and being good is so hard when I'm around Patrick.”

“I’m all out of advice on that one, sorry.”

“Figures.” Pete tossed the pens back into the box he found them in and sighed heavily.

His mom emailed him that night. It was curt and to the point, telling him he was expected at least once during the holidays, preferably Christmas day. He wasn't exactly thrilled over the idea of spending time in the house he grew up so badly in, but they were over the worst of their relationship and it was mostly fine. It was just a lotta food, a lotta relatives and some bad movies. Then he could leave, and they'd have their usual distant and somewhat amicable relationship again.

He wished he could have the kind of relationship that Patrick seemed to have with his family. Patrick's parents weren't together as far as he knew, and yet they seemed to care for Patrick equally, and treat him with respect. Pete never felt like his had respected him much and so he’d pretty much gone as far off the rails as he possibly could. They'd paid for his college education, and he was grateful in a way, but he knew he was the least liked of all three of his siblings, and that stung.

“Tell me about your family,” Pete asked Patrick one night. The kid was heading back to Glenview in a week or so, and Pete had already got him a gift. He wasn’t giving it to him until nearer the date, but he was interested in what Patrick would think. He seemed so clueless about art, even after the song he wrote over one of Pete's designs.

Patrick stared at him now though, hands balled up in a pair of gloves and daft hat shoved over his ears. They were walking, because it eased Pete’s thoughts to walk, and he’d learned to like doing it with Patrick, and his crazy incessant chatter.

“My family?” Patrick asked, and when Pete nodded his pale brow furrowed in thought. “I dunno. Mom and dad broke up when I was eight, but I think they probably would have before if I hadn't have come along.”

Pete laughed without thinking. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, my brother always said he was destined to be the youngest.” Patrick broke off the laugh. “I dunno. My siblings are a good few years older, there's a big enough gap to think my parents were done having kids before I came along. I guess I always figured I was a well-loved mistake. Joe says bandaid-baby, but that sounds dumb to me.”

“That doesn't bother you?”

“Just because I wasn't planned doesn't mean I wasn't wanted, and to be honest, I get away with so much shit. Too much, sometimes.” Patrick's voice softened. When Pete looked over, he was licking his dry lips. It would only make them more chapped, but Pete didn't want to nag. “I know we make jokes about me being a dumbass, but in a way, it’s true. I never really applied myself at school and they always nurtured the creative side in me. So basically I can't study for shit, I'm arrogant when it comes to writing music and all I wanna do is quit college, but I won't because it’s what they think I’ll do and I kinda, just for once, want to impress them? Be smarter than they realize.”

“Being smart isn't about just going to college,” Pete said after a while. He sensed that Patrick had got caught up in his emotions, like he hadn't realized his thoughts until he’d said them. Pete put his arm over him and dragged him close. “You have a natural gift when it comes to music, and you shouldn’t suffocate it under bad grades.”

“I think next semester will be better,” Patrick said, into Pete’s neck, but it sounded like Patrick was trying to convince himself rather than anyone else.

 

 

Mikey was staring at Pete across the room that night. He was hoping Mikey would take at least one night off on the nights he was there. It would make things a lot easier for the both of them and Pete would be able to enjoy the fruits of his labor for at least once in his life. But Mikey was there, and he was staring.

Pete tried to ignore him. The bar had tighter security at the moment and was constantly on the brink of full-capacity, but it was November; party season. It was their highest earning quarter, and Pete's bank account was reaping the benefits. He was trying to see it like that, rather than another night facing his ex.

He shook people's hands, and loaded off drinks that were handed to him onto other people. He let one guy lead him out onto the dancefloor, but called it quits a minute later. He saw Vicky looking sour behind the bar as some guy hit on her. He wandered over, to keep a check on the situation, but when the guy saw Pete approach, he soon bounced.

“Am I that threatening?” Pete asked, taking the guys seat. Vicky flipped the bangs from her forehead and rolled her eyes.

“He knows you're the big boss, no doubt,” she answered, serving someone beside Pete before returning.

“The big boss… I like that!” Pete smiled. For this one moment in his own bar, he felt happy. Then there was a gentle tap on his shoulder and Vicky quickly moved away. He turned to see Mikey standing there. He had a cocktail in his hand as he pointed to the side of the bar that held their offices. He walked off and Pete looked around him for help. He had none, and so he slowly started following.

“I think we need go to a little harder on the amount we let in. We're nearly at capacity--”  Pete started to say, following Mikey into one of the offices. He wanted to be loaded with work based conversation rather than anything else.

“Not a problem, Pete,” Mikey said. He turned, with a smile. Sometimes he looked like his brother, other times not so much. He was more striking; thin and tall. If Pete wasn't with Patrick, then he'd probably still be screwing Mikey, fucking them both up a little more.

“What’s up, then?” Pete crossed his arms, hating the way his anxiety was creeping into the beat of his heart. He breathed slowly, and remembered the feel of Patrick's breath on his neck earlier in the day. The constant, heavy warmth of Patrick's body, was a soothing feeling. But then, anything would beat facing off with Mikey.

“I’m bored,” Mikey said plainly. “Bored of this game.” He downed his drink and dropped it to the desk before heading over to Pete. His breath was sickly sweet from the sugary cocktail, but he was pinning his arms either side of Pete's head as he leaned down. “Are you bored?”

“Bored of what?” Pete gritted out. One of Mikey’s hands slipped, moving down to the zipper of Pete's jeans. Pete let it happen for five seconds, counting them in his head individually as Mikey’s lips touched his neck and his hand precisely pulled at the fly of Pete's jeans.

“Stop, dude. You cannot be bored of games that you are still playing,” Pete said, pulling out of Mikey’s grip. “I'm not having sex with you, I'm not playing anymore games with you.”

“Sell me your share. Divorce me and this will all be over with,” Mikey said. “Then we’ll never have to look at each other's pretty little faces again.”

“I can't do that,” Pete said, swallowing thickly. He wouldn't lose it. He couldn't lose it. “Sell me your share. You don't care about this place.”

“No, but I cared about you. Enough to marry you and give you the funds to buy this place in the first place.” Mikey went brittle in voice and body. Pete felt bad for a second, before shaking it off. He never hid anything from Mikey, never hid his needs or wants in a phoney _I love you._ Mikey gave him an opportunity once; marry me and I’ll give you a bar. Pete didn't say no, couldn’t. He wouldn't have it taken from him.

“We’re going nowhere with this. I'm leaving.”

 

 

Of course Andy had to find out for a second time. Pete already felt like his life was slightly getting away from him. He had Mikey, on him like a snake every night at the bar, he had Mikey’s brother a phone call away, offering emotional support whenever he could. He had his fucking ally in Gabe, leaving for the opposite end of the country. And he had the cutest, sweetest kid in his bed three nights a week. Things couldn't be maintained at the speed they were heading.

Patrick had made and hand delivered the most potent eggnog Pete had tasted in years and it was awesome being merry and warm with him in his apartment. He’d miss him the few weeks that he was gone. But then, Andy had shown up and Pete had literally felt the heat leave his body, but he couldn't connect with it. When Andy left, he sat with Patrick, and just soaked up the attention that was lavished at him.

“You are the fucking dumbest little shit in the world right now,” Andy said to Pete, when he was forced over to his friend’s house. He sat in the armchair that he always claimed when he was over and looked at his knees. Andy rarely got _really_ pissed, but his face was red the last time Pete looked up. “He’s nineteen! You promised you ended it. What the fuck are you doing, Pete?”

“You know what? I have no clue,” Pete said. He was exhausted and it was cold in Andy’s house. He tucked his hands beneath his armpits for warmth, and stared up at his old friend. “I like the kid. He's one of the only things in my life I like and right now, he's pretty much the only thing keeping me sane.”

“You shouldn’t put that on a teenager. That's not fair on him.”

“He doesn’t see it like that.” Pete folded his hands over his face and groaned into it for a few seconds. “Honestly, I feel like he knows nothing about me. I know everything about him, his family, his thoughts and his insecurities. I know what he likes in bed, and what he always wants to eat. He knows that I run a bar that he doesn't know the name of and that I loved someone once, who is now dead.”

Andy’s face changed. “You told him about William?”

“I told him he died,” Pete shrugged. “There isn't anything else to know. He knows I’m an artist, but he doesn't get my art.” Pete thought to the present he’d given him, hoping to maybe inspire, maybe just help Patrick understand that art is about as linear as music.

“This isn’t going to end well, Pete. You know that. It’s why you should’ve ended it when I told you to.” Andy seemed to deflate, collapsing into the chair beside Pete. Talk of Pete’s long-dead boyfriend seemed to take it out of most people.

“No, I know that.” Pete nodded his head. “I’m thinking it’s about two months away from crashing, but I'm enjoying the ride. He’s been the best therapy I’ve had in years. I told him I’ll probably break his heart but he doesn't believe me.”

“You have to be careful,” Andy said, like he didn't have it in him to argue anymore.

 

 

It was actually kind of strange not having Patrick close by for a few weeks. Pete missed him. They usually met up for coffee after Pete’s soccer session on a sunday, and most nights that Pete wasn't at the bar, they'd hang out. Pete's apartment felt a whole lot more empty without him in the bed, talking his head off about something.

He had called up at one point, to whine about his family. They seemed loud, caring, Pete could hear them in the background. His big sister was pregnant and Patrick seemed vastly confused about the whole mess. His voice was nice on the phone though, warm and quiet. When he called back at another point, insecure and upset, Pete spent a good twenty minutes trying to cheer him up. He liked the gift, the encyclopedia of abstract artists. Pete had wanted to put his arms over him and hold him close, to try and hold together the insecurities until they fused back into Patrick's body.

 

 

Gabe’s leaving party fell three days before Christmas. It felt like a super weird time to move to a different state, but Pete wouldn’t judge him for it. He was due at his parents house the night before Christmas, which would be as irritable and cold as it was the year before. He bought a ready-made hamper for his parents, already shipped to their house. It would pass and would soon be over, or at least that’s what he told himself.

Mikey had decided to spend a few nights at his brother’s house. Pete knew because Gerard had told him so. It gave him a few precious nights alone at the club, with no asshole to hide from, or try and not argue with. Come the new year, Pete was figuring that maybe he would have to do something, try and raise funds to buy Mikey out. He didn't know how; Mikey was loaded without the club. The Ways were rich as fuck from birth.

As much as Pete would miss Gabe, the party was the most fun they'd had in forever. Suarez’s set list was wacky enough to suit Gabe’s tastes and Pete actually accepted the majority of shots sent his way. The room was spinning and in a good way. This cute dude came over to Pete with the prettiest eyelashes and a hell of a lot of insinuation in his flirting, but Pete shook his head.

“Sorry, dude. I got someone.” Pete half wished he had someone of age, that he could party with, but at this point, he wouldn't trade Patrick for anyone else.

It just ended up feeling like how he imagined owning a club would be like. In a way, it was how it was before he broke things off with Mikey. It was his ideas, his own passions being reflected back in the reaction of the people around him. Even Vicky looked happier, towering over everyone in heels, and only complaining twice about coming to the bar as a patron on her night off.

“If you ever set up on your own, you know I'd be down to work for you,” Vicky said. She leaned her arm on Pete’s shoulder, like she was trying to be affectionate.

“I’ll be checking your references harder next time,” Pete joked, trying to wink, but he never was very good at that. She laughed anyway.

“Whatever. I want a managerial position next time. Up my pay grade.” She laughed into her bottle and then stumbled off before Pete could answer.

The guy that tried flirting with Pete earlier was still trying it on, silently, a few feet from Pete. It was flattering, but he wasn't really interested. He spent the rest of the night dancing with his friends, half wanting to remember it forever. He wasn't sure when he'd next get to party with his best friend.

With age, came hangovers from hell. Pete spent the next morning drinking insane amounts of fluid and trying to force food down, no matter what. His phone vibrated with messages from a variety of people, but he couldn't deal. Even looking at the easel was making his head spin. If he had his love for partying, and Patrick's age and morning-after bounceback, he'd be a much happier guy. He wanted to go on a run, to try and sweat out the toxins, but the thought made his stomach turn, so he went back to bed instead.

Before he left for his parents, he opened the gift from Patrick. It was a vintage pressing of a Guns N’ Roses classic. Sometimes it was like Patrick had a head of air, but he'd put thought into this. It was the best thing he'd received in forever.

The drive up to his parents house was one filled with typical dread. Not with seeing them, they were used to the relationship they had, but he'd been such an unhappy kid in that house. Even his siblings, who had a better time with their parents, were pretty uninterested in staying there much.

It all still looked the same, eerily so. The same trees bare from winter, colored lights wrapped around the fern on the edge of the drive. It matched the dangling lights over the front of the door, and the wreath, whilst made fresh each year, was always the same color scheme. Pete touched his hand to the leaves framing the door knocker, holly prickling his thumb.

Inside was no different; his dad forced home from work and nursing a whiskey in one living room, his mother shouting orders to Pete’s aunt in the kitchen. Pete bent down as a flock of nieces and nephews ran at him, each one taller than he remembered. He didn't see them all that often, he uncle’d them at a distance.

They didn't know about Mikey. There was no point. It hadn't ever been a relationship like that for Pete, as much as his parents may have wanted it to be. As much as they'd been against his sexuality when he was younger, they’d grown to accept it, and now wanted normality to hit him like everyone else. They wanted him married and settled.

So to them he was the eldest, the disappointment, the unmarried drug addicted son that refused to get a real job. He couldn't even paint in a way they understood, they didn't understand that running a successful bar in the heart of Chicago was way more difficult than they could realize. They just...didn’t get each other. Pete tried to forget about it. He’d made his peace with it.

“Uncle Pete, can I come live with you?” Pete had his sister’s five year old in his lap, ten minutes later. He was running a toy car up and down his legs, and his bottom lip was in a downward turn, like he was post-tantrum.

“You can come visit,” Pete said, ignoring that he rented a one room studio apartment, cluttered with paint, easels and a college kid. Five year olds didn’t need to know that.

Pete was almost soothed by the fact that Patrick was currently little more than fifteen minutes away. They could meet up, if they really wanted, if Pete put in the effort. That would probably be too weird though, taking a teenager away from his family during the holidays.

“Next time I'm back in the city, I’ll come to the bar for sure,” his brother said, swooping his nephew from Pete's lap and telling him to go play with his cousins. Pete nodded at his brother. They weren't close, but they were cool. “Are things good?”

“Yeah, things are good. We’re turning over serious profit. It's all going back into the bar, but it's healthy,” Pete said. There was something warm in his chest as he spoke of his bar. It was why he couldn't give it up to Mikey, he couldn't lose the one thing in his life he was actually proud of.

“And are you seeing anyone?” he asked. When Pete looked at his younger brother, he didn't see any kind of suggestion that he knew of the dumbass marriage he partook in.

“I am, actually.” Pete thought of Patrick and his sweet, pretty face and his curiosity for everything. “It's early days. It's still new.”  
“Aww I'm happy for you.” His brother clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed tight. Pete laughed awkwardly. No one would be happy if they knew about Patrick. It would just be another way in which he's fucked up.

Pete laid in his old bed that night, not sleeping. He thought about his bar, turning over profit, alight with people without him in it. He didn't mind not being there every night, but not being there because he was at his parents house felt different, he felt itchy, on edge.

Pete stared at his phone for a few minutes, upright on the bed. He contemplated and then thought, fuck it. The situation could be reversed for once. He only had to wait a few seconds before Patrick was picking up.

“Hi,” Patrick said. Pete could hear he was smiling. It was like Pete calling him had perked him up. It was weird, knowing he had that effect. He could do anything and Patrick would be down for it. “What's up?”

“Not much,” Pete answered. “I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd check in on you.”

“You never sleep,” Patrick joked, and Pete shrugged to himself. “I'm doing okay. I saw my sister's stomach move earlier which creeped me out. I forget that the baby actually moves in the stomach. You know? Like I always think of babies being activated after birth. Is that weird?”

“Very weird. It's okay, I won't tell anyone,” Pete joked. He didn't like that he felt good for talking to Patrick, that this kid almost felt good for him when he knew nothing of Pete, not really. “When are you back in the city again?”

“Uh, I think the week after New Years. Maybe earlier if I can convince my dad to drop us at the station.”

“Couldn't you just drive yourself?”

Patrick paused for longer than a second. “I, like, failed drivers ed.”

_“What?_ Who fails that shit?

“My nerves got the better of me! And I just wasn't very good. But my dad is like super strict when it comes to driving. Either he takes me somewhere or I go nowhere.”

“He sounds protective.” Like, he’d bust Pete’s balls for dating his nineteen-year-old.

“Not really. He just thinks I make bad decisions when it comes to driving. But that's boring. Are you excited to be back at your parents’ house?”

“It's lonely. Like a high school reunion that I don't want to show up to,” Pete felt vulnerable, talking like this to Patrick. It wasn't what he liked. How he wanted their relationship to be. “I leave tomorrow night. It's not so bad.”

“I guess not…” Patrick trailed off and tried to hide his yawn from Pete. “I can't wait to see you again.”

“Me either.” It wasn't a lie. Pete missed the weight of Patrick against him the warmth of his body _and_ smile. He had one of the best smiles. “Get some sleep, Patrick. We'll talk at another point.”

“Okay g’night. Oh! And merry Christmas!”

Pete had almost forgotten. “Yeah you too.”

Surprisingly, Christmas day was almost good. His parents forced them all to church. Pete wanted to beg off, but fought against it. They sat near the back, with other disconnected families, trying to remember the tune of the carols until it was time to leave.

Then it was just fun watching the kids tear through paper to presents. Pete sat there, arm over his sister, remembered when it was the three of them on the floor, fighting for the best toys.

He got a crate of whiskey from his parents, and a fresh set of oil paints. Not the brand he used but it didn't matter. His sister gave him a metal sign, with the logo of the bar stamped on it. He didn't really understand its use, but he hugged and kissed her all the same. His brother got him tickets to a basketball game which was the best of the lot. He could take Patrick, or Andy, the former who hated sports and the latter who was surprisingly aggressive about them. In the end, he offered the spare back to his brother, it'd be good to hang out.

Then he was driving home, with drunk kisses from his parents and a promise to keep in touch more. Half the kids were asleep, but the five year old was aggressively whining in his brother's arms as they waved him off. He would be glad for the peace and familiarity of his own place.

He had half a second where he thought about driving to Glenview, picking Patrick up and taking him back to the city. But what they'd do when they got there Pete didn't know. He could open up slightly in the confines of his apartment, but other than that, he couldn't have Patrick in his life. Not his real one.

It felt like he'd been away forever rather than a day. The bar felt foreign as he walked through it in the day. It looked odd under the bright lights; metal, and sparkling chrome bar lining one wall. The dj decks high up, looked intimidating, looming over the empty space of the dancefloor.

“Remember when we had sex in the dj area?” Pete jumped at the voice. He thought he was alone, though Mikey had always been good at sneaking around quietly. He peeled his thin body away from the wall and waltzed over to Pete.

“I thought you might still be with your family,” Pete answered coolly. Don't involve yourself, he said in his head. He swallowed thickly, even as Mikey smiled so prettily. Some of his mannerisms were so much like William that it ached at times, it took Pete back to a different place.

“Remember three months ago, when we were still fucking? I sat in your lap up there, lights off. You didn't know whether to fuck me or put your hands around my neck.”

“The feeling’s still there don't worry.” Pete wouldn't fuck Mikey, he had Patrick now. But he was as fuckable as he was infuriating. “But it isn't gonna happen.”

“Never said I wanted it to,” Mikey shrugged, “I do miss fucking you. I loved having all that anger.” He fake-shivered and then laughed. “We make a good team. A good partnership.”

“Did we? In an unequal marriage? You may have loved me more, but don't kid yourself into thinking you entered into it for any reasons relating to it.”

“I’m not sure why I did,” Mikey admitted. Pete didn't want to be here alone with him. “I think it pissed me off that you got to float around like you didn’t give a shit, like I didn’t mean anything.”

“That isn’t true. I cared about you. That doesn’t mean I must be in love with you,” Pete said, but he stepped away, trying to put more space between them as the conversation deepened. “You couldn’t control the way I felt, but you could control the things I wanted. It’s fine, I get that.”

“That’s why I can’t give it up, either. Because to hand it over to you is like humiliating myself that little bit more, and _no thank you._ ” Don’t blow up, Pete told himself. Calm down and breathe. It will be fine.

“I’m walking away,” Pete said, doing exactly that. He could feel his heart beating through his chest, like it actually hurt. He held his hand to it as he locked himself inside his office. He counted and breathed like he was taught to, all those years back in therapy. He thought about Patrick’s cute little smile and that helped too.

New Year’s was heaving like nothing else. Pete had locked himself in his apartment for thirty-six hours, in the period Gabe left and his conversation with Mikey. He wanted what was his, and he wanted his best friend back. He wanted a vacation, wanted to take Patrick somewhere that neither of them knew. He shouldn’t be thinking that way about him, he’d always tried to stop himself thinking of the relationship as anything serious, but he didn’t care.

But he was back and he was faking his old self. Vicky was pouring shots to basically anyone that could get close to the bar, and even Mikey was flirting with his new new boyfriend. Pete didn’t recognize this one, but he was cute. Older, this time.

Then Pete saw Patrick, looking close to throwing up, with a taller boy next to him. Joe probably, but Pete didn’t care. Not tonight, not at all. Patrick made a promise. Pete couldn’t have the two things mix. He marched over and grabbed Patrick’s wrist, tugging him all the way.

Pete was a recovering hot-head, and he tried so hard to hold back the red mist that he saw so often, but not now, not when his stress levels had already shot through the roof. He may have kicked a wall, and Patrick may have been looking terrified, but Pete couldn’t find it in him to care. He took three deep breaths, trying to clear the anger as he walked over to Patrick.

“I need you to leave. We can talk it out at another time.” Just have Patrick leave now and things would go okay. Pete could apologize and they could make up.

“Dude, you can’t be serious,” the friend, Joe, said. Pete looked at him and heard the words, something about self-esteem. That much had always been obvious with Patrick. Pete fell back as the two friends started arguing between themselves, muttering to each other. He tried to add his own thoughts, but then the door was swinging open and Pete was honestly so ready for the world to just fucking swallow him whole. He tried to intervene and as quickly as Mikey left, he was back again. He knew prey when he saw it as he wormed his way over to Patrick. It was all out and over in thirty seconds. Mikey was gone again, not long after, but Patrick stood still.

“No… you said you wasn’t married. I asked you more than once,” Patrick was saying. His voice was catching, like he didn’t know whether to panic or cry. Joe was beside him, looking like he didn’t know what to do, or who to punch.

“It’s not a marriage like that, like you think…it’s not.” Pete paused. He couldn’t beg, he wouldn’t. Part of him wanted to, but he was tired and he knew this would happen. Don’t fight, don’t make a scene, he figured. Patrick was a kid and Pete broke him just like he’d always said he would. He turned to Joe, who had his arm over Patrick’s shaking shoulders. “Maybe you should take him home.”

“No,” Patrick said, and his voice wavered. He tried to grab at Pete's arm, but Pete pushed him away.

“Tell me what's going on. I at least deserve that, right?” Patrick looked close to crying, his eyes studying Pete's face intensely.

“I can’t,” Pete said. “I'm sorry.” He looked at Patrick once more, but then turned and left the room, following after Mikey. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting :)

As Pete left the office, he wasn't sure whether that made him a coward or not. Probably, but he didn’t care. Mikey was standing just off from the restrooms, smirking at Pete like he found the whole thing hilarious.

“I almost wanna be insulted,” Mikey said, as Pete approached. “You can’t love me but you’ve been chasing that little piglet.” He laughed as the room span for Pete. “I don’t mean it like that, but he’s young, he’s pink and he’s fresh meat. You put your filthy paws all over it.”

“I swear I will fucking kill you if I have to speak…” Pete stopped talking. He stepped back and looked at the club from the angle he was at. Everyone was laughing, drinking, having fun. Apart from Pete, and the kid with the broken heart hiding in his office.

What Pete wanted to do over the next few days was text Patrick and make sure he was okay. He didn’t. He hovered over his name in his phone more than a few times, but he didn’t have it in him to call. He half expected Patrick to phone him crying, wanting answers and explanations, but it was radio silence from him too.

The second thing he wanted to do was call up Gabe, and tell him how his life had gone to shit over the holidays, but he didn’t want to bug his old friend, who was probably busy making a life for himself out in the sun.

Pete couldn’t paint, he had a block on his creativity. He slept even less than he did normally. Part of him presumed it was like heartache, even if he was certain it wasn’t love for him. It wasn’t like it was with William, fast and intense and everything at once. That’s the only way he knew it to be.

He volunteered with Andy, but said nothing about what had gone on. It had always been on the cards anyway, and he didn’t really have the words. So, he listened to those desperate for fresh ears. He heard people talk about their last hit, and how they wouldn’t mind _just one more._ He knew the feeling too, and he heard himself sympathize, trying to give them the strength he had, but he wasn’t sure he believed it much himself anyway.

 

A few weeks went by and the January gloom caught on in the club. There was always a dip in the flow as the first few weeks after the party season hit. Pete suddenly hated it there. Every time he was in his office he thought about what went down with Patrick. He blanked Mikey more than ever, walked out if he came by. He wouldn’t fight him, but he wouldn't back down. 

“The one thing I know from growing up with Mikey is that he's a stubborn son of a bitch,” Gerard was saying one day. He was looking better as they caught up, like he'd learned to sleep and eat a few decent meals. “He’s not giving over the bar to you.”

“I’m starting to wake up to that idea,” Pete said. “I always thought I could hang on in there, fight him to the death. I made one huge mistake, but then I wouldn’t have the bar so I'm not sure if I regret it or not.”

“I don't know the ins or outs of what happened recently, but honestly, you seem like a level headed guy for the most part. You would be best cutting ties. Even selling your share back to him, you're not going empty handed. You could invest it elsewhere.”

“I know that,” Pete sighed. “I think I just…. This was mine, you know? I know it was his money, but I built it up, everything inside is my vision. Most of the publicity came through me. To lose it would break my heart.”

“Wouldn’t it still be better than this?” Gerard suggested. Pete shrugged, maybe he did have a point.

 

Pete’s brother came down for the basketball game. He was booked at a hotel for the night and he looked worn down, tired and older than he was at Christmas. When Pete asked what was up, he just shrugged and smiled.

“Just work sucking me dry. It's all good.” He didn't say anything else, so Pete didn’t ask. The game was good, kept Pete's attention for the most part. 

“So, are you still seeing that guy you talked about at Christmas?” His brother asked. Pete laughed dryly, so that it hurt the back of his throat.

“Nah, it didn't pan out,” Pete said. It hurt more than he thought it would. Part of him wished he'd been able to tell Patrick more about himself, so things had been equal. “There was an age gap, he's quite young.”

“You ever see yourself settling down?” his brother asked, and it was so innocently put, there wasn't any kind of nasty sneer behind his words, but it still stung. Pete just shrugged, unable to find the words

 

“I think I've aged like ten fucking years in the past few months,” Pete said to Andy. He was helping him out at the gallery, sorting through the back room filled with old canvases; half of them his. “I feel forty-five.”

“You don't look it,” Andy answered. “Are you whining because of the kid or because of the bar?”

“Both. Man, I fucking miss him. Which I know I shouldn’t, but I can't help it.” There was just something about Patrick, something that lifted Pete's spirits. “He thought I was so cool. I liked that. Guess it makes me a narcissist.”

“I’m not petting your bruised ego,” Andy informed him. He bent over, and hefted another large box onto the table. Pete peered into it, not all that bothered. “I can't talk to you about the kid because I almost can't believe the stupidity you had surrounding the entire situation, but your options are laid out clear about your business.”

“I never loved anyone like I loved William.” Pete changed the topic, so that it was still based around him, but so that Andy was no longer focused on being mad at him. “Mikey reminded me of him. He used to. Just the way he is sometimes.”

“But you never loved Mikey,” Andy answered. His tone shifted into something softer. He never could stay mad at Pete long. Not really. 

“Don't think I ever could. All the ways he is like William just show up their differences even more. It was impossible.” There was something rising in Pete. He felt shifty because for all of Mikey’s bitterness, he hadn't fallen into the gutter like William had. If anything, Pete was the one that dragged him down. “Maybe that's why I like Patrick. He isn't like either of them in any way.”

Andy sighed, way deeper than necessary. “For the love of God, stop bringing Patrick into the conversation.” 

 

Pete made an appointment with an attorney a few days later. Someone that his dad definitely wouldn’t know through association. He didn't know what he wanted to achieve, or what it could bring, but his life felt like it was quickly going to shit. He needed to do something. 

He explained everything. The broken marriage, the bar that was only 40% his. It made money, but what would selling his share back to Mikey actually mean for him? Oh, and was there a way, by any chance, that he could keep the bar?

“Do you think he’ll sell it back to you? Does he need your share back or has he enough revenue on his own.”

“I don't think the money we get at the bar even touches what he already has. He’s loaded. it’s like pocket money to him.” Pete looked down at the desk, out the window, anywhere but at the lawyer and her uncomfortable gaze.

“But not to you?” she asked him curtly. Pete shrugged. He made a good living from it, but it was where nearly all his money came from. He hardly had time to paint legitimately these days, and what he did sell, didn't go for a huge amount. “If the business is turning over the profit you say it is, you could sell your share back to him and cut a good deal from it. Is that your only shared asset?”

“Everything else is separate. It was his house, we never shared shit like that. I bought the car outright with profit from the bar. I rent the apartment I'm in now. The bar is our huge, precious baby, and at best he's like a sperm donor. His money, none of the effort. That’s _my_ kid.”

“Interesting analogy.” She looked down at the paperwork on the desk. Their time was up five minutes later. He'd probably be back at some point, but he wasn't sure when the best time to bring it up to Mikey would be. He felt like he was admitting defeat and he never wanted to do that. 

 

He spent the night drunk on the internet. He couldn’t deal with being at the club, with the idea that maybe he would have to give it up to separate things. Gabe had sent an email, full of photos of his new apartment. There was sun bleeding into all of the windows, lighting up the airy apartment. Maybe Pete could start over in Cali. It wouldn't be cheap, but maybe it would beat being miserable here. 

He slept four hours in a row, which was crazy. He hardly ever did that, but he dreamed too. Patrick was in them, which was crazier, his soft face and the sound of his laugh. Pete couldn't remember any details, just that he was in it. When he awoke, he hovered his finger over Patrick’s name in his phone. With every day he felt even more of an asshole for what he did, but he still couldn’t bring himself to get in contact. Patrick was young. His heart would bounce back. 

He met up with Gerard again the next day and this time things seemed focused completely on Pete. They walked the length of a park, one Pete remembered taking Patrick to in the past. It felt good to have a friend discuss stuff with him, he never got serious help from Gabe, and Andy couldn't offer support about Patrick. Pete had asked to meet up with him, needing maybe a little more help than he realized.

“I just feel lost, and when you feel lost you start to think about things differently. Start to wonder…” Pete trailed off, hoping Gerard knew what he meant. 

“Are you thinking about using again?” Gerard asked, but Pete shrugged.

“Not really. Or only in a way that would mean I wouldn't have to face up to my shit. I've always run from my problems, it's what I do. You don't have issues when you're running on coke. I didn't think about them anyway.”

“You know that's not true,” Gerard said, slowly. “Whatever problems you’re facing now will be exacerbated by drug use.”

“I know.” Pete nodded his head. “And I don't want to. Not really. I don't crave it anymore, I don't know what to do.”

Gerard laughed softly. “Yeah, you do.”

 

Pete maybe did things in the wrong order because he knew he should probably file for divorce and work out a good bargain for the bar with Mikey, but he focused on Patrick instead. He should stay well away, the rational side of his brain said to him, suspiciously in a voice that sounded like Andy's. He couldn't, though. Not when he knew how he hurt him. If Pete was truly honest with himself, he wanted a relationship with Patrick, whether it was friendship or something else. 

He didn't text, because that might freak him out, but it was a Wednesday afternoon, and Pete knew that Patrick usually worked in the coffee shop at the back of the record store on those days. He walked through, darting through the skinny aisles as he followed the scent of coffee to a small clearing. There was only ten or so scattered tables, but no Patrick in sight.

“Oh hey! You don't forget a face like that.” Someone clicked at Pete, much like he was a dog. He turned to see a kid around Patrick's age with dark hair and eyes, smirking at him. “Patrick’s sugar-d!”

“His sugar-d? what are you on? who are you?”

“I'm on nothing,” The guy said, sounding proud. “Espresso? Flat white? What can I get you?

“I don't want a drink, I came looking for Patrick.”

“He quit,” the boy said. “Sucks because he had a great as--. uh, you know. Vivid personality. Hefty.” Pete suddenly remembered Patrick talking about the co-worker that always hit on him. Pete wasn't expecting this little thing. “Did you guys break up? I told him it was weird to date old dudes.”

“I'm not old,” Pete said, but the guy suddenly stopped talking to stare at Pete some more. He nodded his head and gave Pete a thumbs up, like he was backtracking badly. Pete didn't care, he was already leaving again. Pete didn't know what choice he had other than to go to Patrick's apartment. Texting still felt out of the question, he needed to just go and do it. Talk it out man to man. Man to kid.

Joe was the one to answer the door, which was unfortunate. Pete would rather he be out, like he often was when he'd been over. Instead he stood in the door frame, skinny and tall, looking un-amused about the entire situation.

“If you're looking for Patrick, he isn't here.” Joe moved aside and walked into the apartment. Pete presumed that was his cue to enter and followed behind. “We’re nearly in March asshole.”

“Uh. okay.” Pete paused, not really sure how the month was his fault.

“Yeah, and it was New Year's when the whole debacle happened. You didn't try and contact him once.”

“I didn't think he'd want to hear from me, if we’re being honest,” Pete said. He took a seat on the nearly broken couch and tried to keep calm and collected.

“That's not really the point though, is it? He was in love with you and then found out you’re married. Then you just walked out and left him for the dude you’re married to! You picked a side and then I was left dealing with the fall out. Which was, like, way above my station, dude.”

Pete had vaguely thought about how Patrick may have taken the news, but not in that amount of detail. He just imagined a lot of sad music and crying. “I know I upset him.”

“Upset him? You upset me!” Joe seemed like a usually chill guy, but his hands were flapping wildly and his voice was shifting to pitchy anger. “You upset me because I was kinda letting the whole dating a way older dude thing slide because I didn't know how to react to the whole scenario. He had a lot of questions that I sure as fuck don't know the answer to.”

“When is he back, then? I went to his work, but a kid said he quit.”

“He's quit everything,” Joe answered, a lot softer than the time before. “He sends his half of the rent still, but his sister had a baby a month ago and he's been staying with her instead. I dunno if he's dropped out of college completely, but he stopped going.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Patrick’s sister lived further upstate, but Pete started the drive immediately. He asked Joe not to mention to Patrick that he was coming, but he couldn't say for sure whether he'd actually agree to that or not. The drive was smooth, but Pete had a bad feeling the whole while. When he'd been busy, moping around, hiding from his issues, Patrick had completely fallen away, quit college, quit his job. Patrick had complained to Pete about both of those things, but it had sounded like empty whining for the most part.

Pete pulled up outside a nice house on a nice street. Not quite suburbia, but almost. A beginner's step. He thanked all of his lucky stars that Patrick opened the door and not his sister.

“Joe said you were coming,” Patrick said softly. Pete stared into his large eyes, blue and sadder than he remembered. His blonde hair was a mess around his face, but he looked the same mostly. He looked young. 

“Can I come in? We need to chat,” Pete said. Patrick nodded and stepped aside to let Pete in. Patrick shuffled to the front and walked through the quiet house until they reached the backyard. Patrick took a seat beside a baby monitor and Pete joined him, staring down at the nicely manicured garden.

“My sister is out. What are you doing here?” Patrick said softly. “I don't want you here.”

“Why are you here, Patrick? Why have you quit college all of a sudden.” Okay so Pete was an idiot, and that question would most likely be thrown back in his face, but he had to ask.

“Because I wasn't any good at it anyway. I suck at learning. I suck at everything and it all got too much. Megan told me to come here when I said what happened. I help her out with the baby.” Patrick explained, staring down at his knees. “They called the baby Rosie. She’s cool.”

“So you’re your sister’s nanny?” Pete said curiously. 

“I don't mind. I cope better here,” Patrick shrugged. He chanced a look over at Pete and his entire face crumpled up before he looked away. “It really sucks seeing you here.”

“I know I hurt you,” Pete started. He didn't know where to begin if he was being honest. “I am married.”

“I know that now,” Patrick said. “And you ran after him. You left me alone, so…”

“Okay, I know it seemed like that but I just presumed you wouldn't wanna see me anyway. I broke your heart, I didn't see the point in trying to fix it.” Wow, Pete bit his tongue after his own words. What a dickhead, he didn't realize. Not that much.

“That makes you an asshole,” Patrick said, and Pete nodded along. “Why didn't you tell me you was married? I asked you outright.”

“Oh god.” Pete rubbed at his face, wondering how to begin. “About five years ago I met Mikey. He was cute, hot. Tall and skinny was always my vice. He was rich too, the Ways' are old money. Anyway, we were hooking up, but I don't do love. I can't do it, not after William. He was uh, the guy that died. But anyway, sorry. I knew that Mikey’s feelings were stronger, we both did. It was stupid. But I had a sum of money I was sitting on, not anything compared to MIkey but I wanted to throw money at a bar and call it my own. Aside from making art that's all I ever wanted to do.”

“So you married him?” Patrick said. His voice sounded shaky. 

“I asked him to go into business with me. I could put down 40% of what the building wanted. He agreed to put in the rest, but at a price. I think he loved me, but he was angry that I couldn’t.... wouldn’t love him back. If I married him he’d give me the money, buy me the bar basically.”

“That sounds really dumb,” Patrick said. “Even I know that.”

Pete shook his head. “Don't say that about yourself. It was dumb, but I felt like it was the only way. The marriage was quick, and I think maybe the bar got way more popular than we ever envisioned. I could sell my meager share and still be well off for a good while, better off than I ever was beforehand.”

“But what happened? You said you were separated when you met me.”

“About a year ago I stopped seeing the point in being married. We were fucking, but we were fucking other people as well. Mikey wanted me as a husband and he got me, but he soon realized that meant nothing if you can't actually love each other. I moved out of the house and into the apartment. We were still hooking up because...I dunno. but that stopped and then I met you.”

“So you weren't sleeping with him when we were together?” Patrick asked quietly.

“Nope.”

“And you never wanted to?”

“I wanted to, I can’t lie.” Pete looked as Patrick’s face fall again and he tried to reach out. “Patrick, I'm being honest with you. I wouldn't ever touch him, but it's like coke. There’s times when I want to do a line of that, but I won't do it. Sometimes I think about fucking him again, but I won't because I know it's shitty.”

“You can't stay married forever.”

“I know. I've been to see a lawyer. I've gotta go see my accountant to look at the money coming in, and then I guess I make Mikey an offer, a settlement or whatever. The bar was my baby, but I guess I have to let it go.” Man, his heart ached at the thought. “My best friend just recently moved to California too, and Mikey's brother has secretly been visiting me because he relapsed recently. My life has been so stressful recently, but then you were there. I had you and it sucked a whole lot less.”

“Even if I'm not tall and skinny?” Patrick answered, laughing lightly.

“I think I needed to break from that mold. I like you for you, for all that you are. You're kinda crazy and I love it.”

“You love it.” Patrick blinked softly, openly trying to process the conversation.

“I haven't loved anyone because of William. That's a whole different story for another time, but he's the reason why I think my affection for MIkey turned to something much worse. You're something new that I think I do love, but I think we need to start over.”

“Just because I'm young, it doesn't make me easy,” Patrick insisted. He moved a hand over his eyes, like he was drying them slightly. “I feel used.”

“That’s because you were, but it wasn't with malice. With everything else going on you were this little bright spark. You made things easier in the times we were together.” Pete was trying really hard to be honest, even if it made him feel vulnerable. He watched Patrick, who opened his mouth to speak before a piercing wail made them both jump.

“Rosie must be awake. I'll go get her.” Patrick stood up and Pete remained sitting. He heard Patrick come through the monitor a few seconds later, shushing the baby. When he came back a few minutes later he had a squirming baby in his arms. 

“Are you enjoying being an uncle?” Pete asked as Patrick took a seat. He sneaked a look at the baby, pink and with small blinking eyes. She looked a lot like Patrick.

“It’s pretty good. She doesn't bug me about college and she has the same sleep pattern that I do. Plus I'm cheap childcare so my sister can't bug me too much.”

“Are you coming back to Chicago at all?” Pete asked seriously. 

“I know I have to, but I don't think I can continue at college. The more I think about it the more I get this dread in my stomach. I dunno. It just doesn't fit me. I don't know what to do.”

“Go back and find out what you do wanna do.”

“I don't know what I want to do. I don't know what to do about anything. I always said I wouldn't quit college, and I know I'm proving everyone right by not going, but I just…can't.’

“You don't have to think about that.” Pete went to touch Patrick, but he shifted, the baby cuddled up to his chest. “I'm gonna book myself into a hotel for the night. There'll be somewhere near… and I'll come back tomorrow. Pack your bags, I'm taking you back to your apartment.”

“I'm not having sex with you,” Patrick said suddenly and then looked down in fright of the baby in his arms. “Don't remember me saying that, Rosie.”

“I'm not saying that at all. I wouldn't expect that. I just wanna help you because I helped fu--dge you up.” Pete looked down at the baby. “I'm putting things right. And I'm starting with you.”

Patrick let out a laugh. “That's kinda hot. I still hate you a little bit though.”


	10. Chapter 10

Hotels were kind of hard to come across this deep into the suburbs, but he found a bed and breakfast with a vacancy. He called Andy from his room, sitting on the floral bedspread. 

“I didn't see you at the center today,” Andy said casually. “Everything okay.”

“Everything is going to be okay. I'm going to make everything okay.”

“What does that mean?” Andy sounded worried, but Pete wasn't. He felt surprisingly calm about it all. 

“It means I've been to see a lawyer and that I'm letting go of the bar.” Pete paused to pick up on Andy's reaction. “And also I'm upstate because I helped fuck Patrick up and I'm trying to fix him.”

“Wait hold up. Why?” Pete could sense the furrowed brow through the phone.

“Why what? I'm not the whole reason he's left the city, but I'm a big chunk of it and I know I can help put him right.”

“But you're not sleeping with him? “

“Get your head out of my sex life, asshole,” Pete laughed, but he was being serious. “That's the last thing I'm gonna do now, but if it did develop I wouldn't stop it.”

“For God's sake, Pete.”

“No, dude. No. Enough Andy. Let me make this mistake myself, or not.” Pete took a breath. “It's inappropriate, sure, but it feels right, okay? And I'm just helping him out. He needs it.”

“It is your life. I just worry,” Andy admitted. “Sometimes I forget I'm not actually your mother.”

“Right,” Pete laughed along. “I don't feel like I had a particular moment that woke me up, but something finally clicked and I just want my life back. Or a new one.”

“Can't have everything.” Andy mused with caution. “Stay safe, alright?”

“Back at ya, dude.”

 

Patrick met Pete outside his sister's house the next morning. He had his bags packed, but Pete stayed in the car as he said goodbye to his sister. Today was not the time to meet family. 

“I still don't know how I feel about you,” Patrick said, as he jumped in. “I'm coming back at the weekend, I promised to look after Rosie. My sister is seeing friends…”

“You've bonded with the baby,” Pete laughed, but Patrick shrugged. 

“I was kinda ambivalent about the whole baby thing, but I like Rosie. She cuddles even better than you.”

“You can come back then, but we need to get you sorted.”

“Have I had a super early mid life crisis?” Patrick asked. “Because I cried for like three days and I'm not like that normally.”

“I think that's heartbreak,” Pete said softly. “Sorry about that.”

“I wanna say it's okay to make you feel better, but it isn't,” Patrick answered and even though it half sucked, the strength in the words was awesome. They were quiet most of the journey back, Pete had an innocuous radio station playing that Patrick didn't complain about even once. Every time Pete looked over, he had his head resting against the window, eyes staring blankly at the passing scenery.

“I don't wanna go back to the apartment,” Patrick said, when they started hitting familiar ground. Pete nodded, but didn't question it. “Joe will want answers right away and I can't do that.”

“I'm working tonight, but you can stay at mine,” he offered it up and Patrick nodded his head. 

There was zero privacy as Pete's apartment, aside from the bathroom, but it didn't seem to matter. Patrick spent a while in the shower, as Pete fixed something to eat. He didn't know what he was doing, but he was doing something and that seemed enough. Maybe just give Patrick space, enough to know that it was all alright; that he'd be okay.

“The one thing I missed about this place was the shower,” Patrick said, a while later. They were eating sandwiches because Pete hadn't had anything else in. It was fine, really. Patrick sat with his legs tucked underneath him, staring at Pete from across the small table. 

“It’s a cool shower,” Pete said. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick offered up. “I still like you, but I don't trust you and I don't know...my self esteem is in a real bad place, even if you didn't mean to fuck it up.”

“I'm not expecting anything from you,” Pete offered. “Just acclimatize yourself again, alright?”

Pete left for work a little while later. Patrick was sitting on his couch, looking through some of Pete's art stacked in the corner. Patrick waved goodbye, wiping his glasses with the bottom of his shirt for a moment. 

Pete found it easier to work in a way, even if he knew he was going to have to give it up. The thought hurt, not seeing Vicky, or hearing Suarez’s DJ delights. But he could start over in time, a new place, no co-owner he married for shitty reasons. He stayed away from Mikey, but even if he had seen him, he wouldn't have minded. He'd already washed his hands of it.

When he got back to his apartment at around 2 am, Patrick was gone. Pete had half expected him to and he was alright with it. It was too soon for Patrick to be completely okay with him. Pete, again, was weirdly okay with it. He was losing so much, stuff that would normally have him bummed out. He had zen, or something of the sort. Or maybe he was just finally growing up. 

 

Pete never went looking for Patrick, he could find his own way back to him if needs be. Instead, he worked on himself. He wasn’t sure whether he should work on the divorce first, but that would be easier to deal with afterward. He needed the bar sorted and that might lessen the blow for Mikey anyway.

He had the bar evaluated by the accountant and things were… okay. Pete knew things were going well, but not _that_ well. He could easily put that money into another bar, or invest in some crazy idea. He could hotfoot it down to Cali and live happily with Gabe, or go super cliché and find his art in Europe.

Pete spent the rest of the week in and out of the clinic. Maybe he had, like, a new found energy or something, but he suddenly wanted to help out wherever he could. He even gave a dumb speech trying to motivate them all. He got hit on by a teenager with track marks all the way up his arms, and Pete just smiled, laughing a long in his head. He didn't know when he became such a magnet for teenage boys.

“You are so perky. It’s a little odd,” Andy said calmly. They were stacking the chairs away at the end of the session. “Something's changed.”

“It has,” Pete responded, smiling at his old friend. “When this is all over I’m booking a flight out of the city for a while. Maybe I’ll head to Italy, or like, Australia.”

“Those are two very different places,” Andy laughed.

“But they’re not Chicago and I think I need to not be here. A lot has happened and I’m gonna be mega rich for a while.”

“Have you spoken to Mikey?”

“Nope.” Pete rubbed at the back of his neck. “He’s winning, and yet I still feel like he's gonna fight it.”

“Well shit. Good luck with that.” Andy winked, but he looked pretty grateful to not have Pete's life for himself.

 

“I heard from my lawyer last night.” Mikey strode into Pete’s office in the middle of the day with a small smirk on his face. “You didn't wanna tell me yourself?”

“I wanted to avoid any arguments,” Pete said calmly. He sat back in his chair and looked up at Mikey. “You won.”

“The important question is why are you giving up?” Mikey asked, he crossed his arms and perched onto the edge of Pete's desk. “Wasn't this your dream?”

“It was, before it became messy. And you’re never gonna back down and I couldn't do it anymore. You win, I want out. We’ll figure out a divorce afterward.”

“We never signed a pre-nup, so you're not getting any of my money,” Mikey assured Pete seriously, but he just shrugged back.

“I don't want your money,” Pete said. “I won't need your money when I sell up. I'm doing just fine now. Or I will. When I get my 40%.”

“You’re aiming too high.” Mikey pushed up from the desk. “Without you in my way, I can finally do what I want with this place. Starting with the music.”

“Right on, Mikey,” Pete said. He felt shitty about leaving Suarez alone, possibly looking for a new job, but it would be better in the long run.

 

“Everything’s better down here, you’ll love it!” Gabe was saying on the phone. Pete was heading to soccer because it was Sunday and it was part of his routine. At least with spring threatening to approach, things were looking up. 

“Maybe. I'm not sure. There isn't anything keeping me in Chicago anymore,” Pete said back. The more he thought about it the more he was tempted about moving away. He had money and that could take him anywhere.

“Not even a hot teenager.”

Pete wasn't going there. “Shut up.”

“Did he call ya daddy?”

“Shut up.” Pete hung up as he pulled into the park. He shook his head and laughed, not able to help himself. 

Now that Gabe had moved, Pete was basically the only non-dad on the team. The guys were cool, and they had fun, but he could never fake interest in their kids for that long. He still enjoyed it, more now that it wasn't as cold. It got his heart pumping and he scored, like, three goals. And he only got into one fight and no one called him a fag. It was a pretty good game.

Pete sucked down his water as he headed back to his car, a towel thrown over his shoulders. As he approached, he saw a familiar figure hovering by his car. He smiled, and his heart picked up. That must mean something. 

“Oh hey,” Pete said. Patrick looked up. He had a baseball cap on and his blonde hair was starting to grow a little unruly beneath it, but he looked about as cute as he always did, chin tucked into his coat like he was cold. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Figured it was time to come out of hiding,” Patrick admitted, lying softly. He looked up at Pete like he was nervous. His eyelashes flickered and his blue eyes bounced across Pete's face for a moment. “I always liked how you looked after soccer.” 

“Please, you’re making me blush,” Pete joked, but actually, he did feel heated by the compliment. He gently moved Patrick aside so he could get to the trunk of his car, for a fresh shirt. “You knew where to find me.”

“I thought we could get coffee,” Patrick said, and Pete figured the nerves were because of this moment. “Like we used to.”

“Yeah, okay. That’d be good.”

They always went to the same coffee shop, this small joint that had the trendy chalkboard walls of a hipster cafe, but none of the decent drinks. Pete didn't complain and he let Patrick buy like always anyway. 

Patrick smiled at Pete when he came back to the table, and then bit his soft lip. “I got my old job back, so I can afford this.”

“You still working with that creep?”

“He isn't a creep, just super horny. He's very sexually active with his boyfriend, apparently . Or so he tells me,” Patrick laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck. Pete tried not to be a perv, but he just wanted to drink up the view of Patrick in front of him. He hadn't realized quite how much he'd missed him.

“Do I dare ask about the C word?” Pete said back. He tried to remember to blink, but Patrick didn't seem to care. 

“I talked to my parents. They said to take the semester off and see how I feel afterward. Suddenly felt like I could breathe when they said that,” Patrick laughed. “And they both apologized for making a big deal about college in the first place. There's an apprenticeship going at a local recording studio as a tech and I'm gonna apply for that.”

“You're talented. I hope it works out.”

“Thank you for coming to get me,” Patrick said. “I needed someone to do something and not just let me float by.”

“You were made to be more than just the nanny,” Pete joked, but Patrick shrugged his shoulder. 

“I still babysit a lot. I go up a few times a month to see Rosie.”

‘But you're doing better otherwise?” Pete asked. Patrick looked the same, more or less. 

“I think I am.” Patrick smiled at Pete again, tips of his ears going pink. “How about you?”

Pete didn't launch into it all at once, but he told Patrick about his meetings with the lawyer and accountant and that he was selling his share.

“How does that work? I mean, how much will you get?” Patrick centered his glasses and leaned forward on his elbows. His sleeve was dipping into the foam of his cappuccino, but Pete didn't tell him. 

“I get 40% of the business I guess, or at least that's what we're aiming for. It might go lower if Mikey doesn't accept, but I'm like…. Basically with how good the bar was, I'm gonna be pretty loaded for a while.”

“Ooh, like $10k?”

“The venue alone is currently valued at a million, add up the awesome profit we made, everything contained in the club and spit out the amount I'd be owed… I think I might actually _be_ a millionaire.”

“Holy _fuck._ ” Patrick's eyes bugged out bright blue behind his glasses. Pete laughed at the reaction, it had basically been his own. 

“And you're divorcing too, right?” Patrick changed the topic when his eyes finally went back to normal. 

“I didn't really know the best way to do it,” Pete admitted. “I'm doing it separate. That might limit the games Mikey wants to play. It'll make the divorce easier, I think. Or not. But then I can probably afford a super top attorney with my new money so it'll be better that way.”

“Okay…” Patrick nodded his head. “I think I'm okay with that.”

Pete lifted his head. “What does that mean?”

“What does all of this mean?” Patrick laughed, his lips wet and pink. Pete wanted to lean in and kiss him so bad. Probably a bad idea. “If we take it slow, we can do things. You know, go out on dates. If you like.”

“You think I wouldn't want that?” Pete asked, feeling way too excited about it. Patrick was shrugging his shoulder, but his face was red.

“I'm trying to be more cautious,” Patrick shrugged. “My confidence took a knock after everything.”

“You’re hot,” Pete said openly. “You’re cute. And I’d love to take you on a date. If you're okay with that.”

Patrick smiled at him, nodding. “Yeah, okay. That's good.”

 

Vicky was mad at Pete when she heard he was selling up and told him as much, thumping him on the shoulder for good measure. He rubbed his sore arm and stared up at her with an apologetic shrug.

“You’ve managed the bar here for nearly two years. I'll write you an awesome reference and you can find work elsewhere if you really can't bare the thought of staying here. I'm sorry, but someone had to budge, and I had to go,” Pete said. She looked at him sourly for a few seconds before her body sagged.

“It's been awful working beneath you guys with all the tension.”

“If it's any consolation, he’ll probably be much more accommodating when I'm not around. I won't be gone for a few weeks yet, anyway.” He needed Mikey to agree to the terms, to the amount he was owed. He still wasn't expecting the 40% of his share, but he was hoping for as close to that as possible. 

“You're still an ass,” she told him, and he nodded in agreement. Of course he was. “Just not as much as I like to tell myself.”

 

Patrick called him later that night. Pete had been working on a new piece for the last few nights and he was just trying to finish up, as he answered his phone.

“Hi. It’s Patrick,” he said in a rush.

“Hi, Patrick,” Pete answered. He switched to speaker and placed it back on the side. “What’s up?”

“I spoke to Joe. He is infinitely more approving of the relationship now he knows you might be a millionaire.” Patrick sounded serious before he broke off into a laugh. 

“I'm guessing he still hates me.”

“Of course,” Patrick said. “I wouldn't expect anything less. He isn't a pushover like me. But, I was thinking, we need to go on a date, right?”

“Right,” Pete agreed, too distracted to work on the canvas. He stared down at the phone and rubbed at his forehead. “You got anywhere in mind?”

“I wanna go bowling,” Patrick answered quickly, but Pete immediately started to protest.

“Dude, I can't take you fucking bowling. That's what teenagers do! I'm thirty-six in a few months.”

“I _am_ a teenager,” Patrick reminded him. “I bet you went bowling on a date as a teenager. I want the same experience as everyone else.”

“Patrick, I will look like your father. People will think I'm tryna bond with my kid. Why don't we go to the movies instead, if you want a teenage experience.”

“No, they won’t. I want to go bowling,” Patrick laughed. “I want you to take me so that people can see us.” Oh so that’s what it was. A fucking test. Probably a Joe inspired test, but Pete actually understood and he knew he had so much to make up for.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

Pete hadn't been bowling in at least fifteen years. It was one of those things he figured you did as a kid, and then when you had kids. Unless you were on a bowling team, but that was just sad. Patrick was late enough that Pete was starting to worry about being stood up but then he saw Patrick round the corner, staring down at his feet with his hands in his pocket until he looked up and saw Pete. Then he smiled and waved.

Pete probably should have known that Patrick would be terrible at bowling. He spent ages dithering over the correct ball to go for and then insisted on having the guards up, even when Pete knew it was way more fun to keep them down.

“You're not supposed to aim for the barriers,” Pete told him, the third time Patrick threw the ball against the barrier, like he was trying to bounce it to get better aim. It slowly lumbered down the lane before knocking three pins over. Patrick clapped himself all the same. 

“I was never very good,” Patrick said, shrugging. “My dad used to make me use that thing you roll the ball onto, even when I was, like, twelve.”

“I won't make you do that, but I will mock you when you lose,” Pete said, teasing slightly. He leaned over and gave Patrick a small kiss on the lips, just because he could. So no one thought he actually was Patrick's dad. 

Pete was kind of super competitive and scored three strikes in a row, which put him miles above Patrick, who had a little fluke, but not a huge amount of skill. He sucked on his coke and waved at the group of kids playing in the lane next to them. Pete was trying hard not to look around, to see whether they looked out of place.

“What's my prize for winning?” Pete asked, as they ate dinner after bowling. Patrick was limited to a limp looking veggie burger as Pete ate his chicken sandwich. He stared at Patrick's pink lips and remembered quickly how they looked wrapped around his dick. He blinked the thought away as Patrick shrugged. 

“Still not having sex with you just yet,” Patrick said. “But maybe I’ll let you choose our next date.”

 

“Mikey’s been talking about you a lot,” Gerard said, on their next meet up. He was showing Pete the comics he had previously worked on and they were pretty good. Pete was starting to wonder whether he'd have been much better off marrying the other Way brother for convenience.

“I presume it's all terrible.” Pete looked across the table at Gerard, who was sipping a black coffee.

“He thinks you're having a midlife crisis. That you've been sleeping with a much younger dude, that you’re finally losing it and that's why you're giving up the bar.”

“Patrick is a lot younger,” Pete admitted. “Your brother was pretty terrible to him too and I'm trying to fix things with him, even if I shouldn’t. He can have the bar, it's his. I just want him to finally get back to me with the right offer and we won't ever have to talk again.”

“Until you divorce,” Gerard said, and then laughed. “I could use this for a storyline in one of my comics. Could be a little far fetched though.”

“Go ahead,” Pete waved his hand at Gerard. “Be interesting to see what it looks like from someone else's point of view.”

 

Pete got a call from his attorney a day later, explaining that Mikey had declined the offer of 40%, but was willing to hear another deal. He'd be happy giving Pete 25%. Pete wasn't settling for that at all. For everything he'd put into the place over the past few years, he wasn't settling for a quarter of the profits. 

“Offer him thirty,” Pete said down the line. “I'm not going under that.” 

He thought about it all day, wondered whether the deal would come off or not. He hoped so, he just wanted it all done with now. He wanted to move on, in whatever way he could.

He was taking Patrick out on a date later that night. It was a surprise but it definitely wasn't bowling. Patrick looked good, in a denim jacket and a haircut. The scraggly blonde ends no longer curled up awkwardly against his shoulders, though he touched the back of his neck nervously as he approached Pete.

“Someone is looking hot as ever,” Pete said. He lifted his arm, and threw it over Patrick's shoulder, leaning in to kiss him. Patrick smiled at him, but also rolled his eyes.

“Where are we going?” Patrick asked, as they got into Pete's car. He started the engine before responding. “It’s still a surprise.”

By the time they pulled up outside of the building, Patrick was still none the wiser. Pete finally let him in on it, as they walked through the building and large professional kitchen, that had a group of eight people standing around.

“You’ve got into cooking recently, right?” Pete said, turning to Patrick. Everyone was talking loudly among themselves ignoring the two of them.

“Yeah, you know I have,” Patrick responded. “Are we cooking?”

“I booked us in on a cookery course!” Pete said. He watched Patrick stare at him in confusion for a few moments before he started laughing.

“Oh, that's really sweet.” Patrick beamed up at him and then looked around, his cheeks pink. “This isn't the kind of date I was expecting.”

“I wanted to do something special for you and figured you'd like this more than a loud busy night somewhere.” Pete shrugged, and took the apron that was handed to him by a burly looking dude that had _Head Chef_ pinned to his white uniform. 

They had to work in teams, which suited the fact that nearly everyone had come with someone else. Pete wasn't a great cook himself, could fry some veg and make sandwiches, but his ability had already been surpassed by Patrick, who was so enthusiastic in the kitchen, it was actually kind of hot.

They were supposed to be cooking beef, but Patrick was a veggie and the chef had looked mighty unamused when they explained it. Patrick said it was fine, so long as Pete dealt with the meat. It was so much fun, Pete hadn't laughed that much in forever. Patrick spent half the time chopping vegetables and looking around at what everyone else was doing as Pete poked the large lump of meat, wondering exactly what he was supposed to be doing with it.

Their food was judged by the Head Chef and okay, Pete maybe got things mixed up because he kinda thought that they'd be taught what to do and it would all be gentle and easy, but things were intense and he got yelled at for serving mostly raw beef, even if Patrick had sautéed the vegetables perfectly. 

“I'm so sorry,” Pete said after. They went back to his place, to wash away the smell of fried meat. Patrick came out of the shower first, with his skin still damp and his wet hair curling around his face. “I'm sorry for taking you to a super intense cookery course. I wasn't expecting it to be like that.”

“It’s okay.” Patrick laughed and curled his feet beneath him on the couch. “It was fun. Fake Gordon Ramsay was scary though. I'm glad I had you to hide behind.”

“RIght? I just won't ever cook a lump of cow ever again.” Pete pulled his shirt off, and caught Patrick’s eyes watching him. “I'm gonna take a shower. I'll be back soon.” 

Pete didn't want to spend too long in the shower. He wanted to get back to Patrick, who was waiting for him, and finally seemed to be healing from what Pete did to him. It seemed like the kind of night where things could happen, where they could talk all night, and maybe, finally, get closure on everything. 

Pete jumped when the shower door opened behind him and he turned to see Patrick, naked again, walking into the shower. He lifted his arms up, over Pete's shoulders, and started to kiss him. Pete slid his arms around Patrick, suddenly so desperate for the touching they hadn't done in so long and the feel of Patrick, hot, soft and those few inches shorter than himself. 

“You alright?” Pete asked as the shower beat down on them both, he pushed Patrick's wet hair back, so that all he could see was his face. Patrick's eyelashes were clumping together under the stream, but he was nodding his head. 

“I want you...you know.” Patrick laughed and bit his soft lip. “I'm ready for it again.”

They had sex, in the plainest of ways. Pete turned Patrick around in the shower and had him like that. It was easy and it was over quick. Patrick's body was just as Pete remembered, soft, tight. He made the best noises, even through the noise of the pummeling shower. Pete pulled out before he came; with no condom, he didn't want to risk anything. Didn't want to complicate things more. But Patrick was turning, having already come, and took Pete in his hand.

Afterward, it just felt right to lay in bed and not sleep. Patrick was wiggling around, flopping from side to side, but Pete didn't allow it to annoy him, and just shut his eyes.

“Can you tell me about William, please?” Patrick asked after a while. He stopped turning after that, and Pete figured maybe he'd been bottling up the question for a while. “Just something.”

“Okay.” Pete said. It wasn't like it hurt to talk about him, it just felt like such a dark corner of his life. “He was tall, pretty looking. He was an artist too, he worked in the same gallery that I quit law school for. We hit it off, I loved his...I'm not sure. He just had the ability to show his feelings without saying a goddamn thing, and that's rare. You’re the same in a way, but it’s more subtle.”

“He sounded a bit dramatic,” Patrick said. “Sorry, I know it's rude..”

“Don't be. He was, I guess. Everything was fueled by emotion with him. If it made him feel good, then it was good. We got into drugs about the same time. It was an occasion for him, he was all into setting the best scene to get high. I don't know. I was always more cynical. When I was done, I was done and I knew I had to get out. He was strung out on everything by that point and we weren’t really even lovers any more. He did what he had to to get money at that point. Anything to chase it. I never asked him to quit with me because I knew he'd say no. Maybe that was my downfall.”

“I don't know anything about anything really, but sometimes you have to put yourself first, right?”

“You do. That's what they say in therapy. I’d been clean a while, but every day I thought about William, wondering how he was, whether he had enough life left in him to get over it. Then I found out he’d OD’d. That kind of shit gets to you.”

Patrick clearly didn't know what to say because he remained silent, though his hands were gentle in Pete’s hair. “Have you ever relapsed?”

“No. but I guess I never really let myself think about things. I cut myself off from everyone, from the idea of loving other people.” Pete frowned up at the ceiling, thinking about Mikey and how they treated each other. “Then I met the cutest little college kid with his head in the musical clouds. And now here I am.”

“Here you are,” Patrick laughed. “You don't regret it?”

“No. I don’t.” Pete lifted his head and looked at Patrick. 

“If you ever want to talk about him to me, you know we can, right? Or the drugs, but I mean. I slept through the drug awareness course during high school so I'm pretty clueless. I just know to say no.”

Pete laughed, and then laughed some more. Patrick joined in, pushing at Pete’s chest with his fingers. “You are amazing, Patrick. Fucking crazy, but amazing.”

“Okay.” Patrick smiled at Pete. “That’s okay.”

 

Pete managed to seal the deal with his lawyers and Mikey a few weeks later. It took way more effort and haggling than he realized, but it felt like his life might finally be changing for the better. Plus the money was insane. The sour face Mikey pulled when he realized how much Pete was getting from him was crazy. 

“I'm taking you somewhere special,” Pete said to Patrick on handover day. He was sad to let it go, but it was time to move on. 

“You know I've pretty much forgiven you,” Patrick insisted, laughing softly as Pete tugged on his hand. “That makes me a pushover, but I've come to terms with it.”

“Oh yeah?” Half of Pete felt like a shithead for letting Patrick forgive him. The rest of him was so fucking glad the begging stage was over with. They went out together a little bit and didn't get too many looks. Most of Pete's sensible friends weren’t happy about it and Patrick's parents didn't know, but Joe was coming around to the idea, and Andy had had a few pleasant conversations with Patrick too, as well as an odd one about whether vegans _really_ eat mushrooms or not. 

“I don't want to come here,” Patrick said, face scrunching up when he realized he was outside Pete's bar. “I have bad memories of this place.”

“I'm leaving my keys on the bar. Gerard’s taken Mikey out for the day so I can do this without him watching. I'm saying goodbye to it now, but I want you with me to do it.” Pete unlocked the side door and pulled Patrick in behind him before he could back out. “I’ll even let you have a drink.”

“One year and one month until I'm legal to drink,” Patrick said, mostly because he knew the age gap unsettled Pete. At least he was twenty next month. At least by then Pete wouldn't have to admit he was dating a teenager anymore. 

It was more unsettling than Pete wanted to admit to. He'd built this bar up himself, made it into the beast it is now, and he was just going to give it up. Once he left, he wouldn't be back. They'd all signed papers now, once the keys were left, that was it. Pete would be a rich free man.

Patrick was heading up to the decks on the second floor, but Pete walked through to his office. He'd already packed most of it up, but he had a small box to clear out the desk. He hadn't ever been one to want photographs on his desk, he never had anyone he cared about enough. He left all the paperwork behind, all the stuff that had filled his head up for the past few years, but that was over with now, Pete wouldn't have to think about that stuff again.

When he walked back into the main area with his packed box, Patrick was leaning on the bar, staring at the bottles lining the wall. Pete touched his arm, but hopped over the bar and lifted the most expensive bottle of whiskey down, with two glasses. 

“This is the last chance to indulge like this,” Pete said, pouring the whiskey. He handed it to Patrick, who walked around until he was the same side as Pete. He took a sip and then pulled face.

“I think I prefer the cheaper stuff,” Patrick admitted, putting the glass down on the bar. He put his palms on the wooden top and then hitched himself up until he was sitting on the bar. Pete savored the drink a little more, and then stood between Patrick's legs, hands on either side. 

“Before we became more, I don't know, official, I was thinking about calling it quits and moving to Cali. There wasn't anything keeping me here anymore.” Pete stared up at Patrick, and then away. “But you're not in college anymore and you're at a crossroads too. We could do anything you wanted with the money I've got.”

“I guess,” Patrick said awkwardly, biting his lip. “I don't wanna move to California. I like Chicago and Joe is here.”

“For sure. I don't wanna be creepy about it or anything, but I can… I want to help you. I can pay for whatever you want.”

“Dude,” Patrick started laughing, face turning pink. “That makes you sound like my sugar daddy.”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” Pete cringed, but started to smile when he felt Patrick's hands on his face. “The offer stands.”

“We could go on vacation?” Patrick said instead. “That's a little less permanent. Plus I'm still holding out for the internship.”

“A vacation could be good.” he stepped away and held out his hand, helping Patrick down from the bar. The whiskey was potent on his inexperience and he stumbled into Pete, laughing as he did so. He dropped the keys on the bar, with their two drinks and focused on Patrick's pretty face rather than the crushing thought that he'd never see this place again. 

“Hey, can Joe come?” Patrick asked, as they walked to the exit, Pete looked at him in confusion before Patrick rolled his eyes. “On vacation with us. He needs a break.”

“Patrick, I'm not taking your best friend on a romantic getaway with us. Not for any reason.” Pete nudged his hand into Patrick’s, their fingers folding together. 

“Fine.” Patrick laughed, bumping into Pete as they made their way onto the street. It was busy and bright, full of people they neither knew nor cared to look twice at. “It's fine with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week is the last chapter (:


	11. Epilogue

**Five years later.**

 

Patrick woke up to an empty bed. He laid there, blinking up at his ceiling. It was a Sunday, and he always woke up alone on a Sunday. It sucked, but he was over brooding about it. He waited until eleven, and then he finally rolled from the bed, stretching out his muscles. He shuffled into the shower, stood under the spray until he was pink and then pulled on some clothes.

He wanted to eat cereal for breakfast, out of his favorite bowl, but it had been boxed up accidentally and shipped out of state already. It made Patrick's breakfast a little more boring, but he ate toast instead, tossing the crusts to the dog when he was done. 

Patrick was meeting up with Joe for the first time in what felt like forever. Joe was finally done with school, all of it, but he'd been studying for the bar so intensely that there hadn't been any time for anything else. They didn't live together anymore, but before the last few months, they'd still spent a ton of time together. 

They were meeting up at the cafe...the one Patrick still worked at five years later. He was a manager now, and Brendon had left for...well, Patrick couldn't remember. Their last conversation had been awkward, what with Brendon announcing that Patrick was the one fuck he'd always wanted but never had. Kinda weird really. But things were different. Patrick never did get promoted to a job in the record store, but he'd grown really fond of his little coffee shop in the back that it didn't really matter.

“Earth to Stump?” Patrick jumped when fingers clicked in front of his face. He jumped and then smiled, standing up as Joe stood in front of him. They hugged, squeezing tight, and then Patrick knocked over his latte, causing a scene. Patrick mopped his jeans up and got one of the college kids that worked for him to get Joe a coffee.

“You look older!” Patrick said, even though it really had only been six weeks. But Joe's hair had finally been cut; his dark head of curls shorn closer than normal, and his face was clean cut. His eyes looked bright and there was no bags beneath them for once. He'd been permanently exhausted in the last year of law school, but now, now he looked good. Patrick told him such. “You look really good.”

“You’re regretting not dating me now, huh?” Joe asked, smiling at Patrick. He looked to be scanning Patrick's face in the same way, checking it over. Patrick was slimmer than before, with a neater haircut. He still felt the same on the inside; jumbled up against the sync of the rest of the world.

“We would've made a good couple,” Patrick agreed, taking a sip of latte. “Shame there's no chemistry between us, and like, you're not gay.”

“That was always the biggest thing.” Joe laughed, and Patrick felt good for a solid five seconds before reality hit him again.

“I don't want you to move to New York,” Patrick said. Joe had been accepted to a family law firm in NYC and was leaving by the end of the month. Patrick couldn't imagine a life without Joe around the corner. Being states away changed things, changed how he felt.

“Asshole, don't put it all on me,” Joe laughed, but there was a seriousness to it too. “You're off to LA.”

“I know.” Patrick shrugged. He still had an itching anxiety when he thought about it, counting down the days until they couldn't call Chicago home anymore. They had an apartment in LA already, and Pete had the bar already set up. Pete had been ready to leave Chicago since they got back together, but Patrick hadn't been ready. When he knew Joe was leaving, there hadn't felt much reason to stay. 

“You still not sure about it?”

“It will be fine. I think I'll be happy because I'm happy whenever I'm with him, but there's always those feelings. Anxiety is killer, always has been,” Patrick shrugged, and then took another sip of his latte. “Plus I got a job. Like a real one out there.”

Patrick had finally decided that music was always going to be where his heart was. He wasn't smart, not in the academic sense and he never would be, but he got on a teacher training course and had to study with Pete's help. Which annoyed Pete no end because Patrick just couldn't focus. He was officially a music tutor now, and had experience working in a studio from the internship he'd applied for five years back. So far he taught a few kids on the days he wasn't working the coffee shop and it worked well for him.

“We’re not really kids anymore, are we?” Joe admitted, leaning over to Patrick. “Aww fuck. Remember how it used to be? You whining about college, me studying in the library, surviving on pie from the restaurant?”

“We're both better off now.” Patrick shrugged. They'd stopped living together when Joe got into law school a few years back. He'd had to move to the other side of Chicago anyway, and Patrick figured it was about time he moved in with Pete. “Though I kinda miss that apartment of ours.”

“Yeah. Those were the good days.” Joe sounded slightly whimsical before he slurped some of his drink into his mouth.”I gotta go, dude. But I'll see you at the party later?”

“For sure.” Patrick stood up and hugged his best friend as tight as he could.

 

Pete was home by the time Patrick got back to their place. Pete had moved out of his studio apartment when they moved in together and they owned a small apartment near the coffee shop. Before they'd decided to move to LA, it had been a cluttered house of easels, canvases, foot pedals and instruments, but they'd packed most of it up. 

Pete looked as grumpy as he had all week, and he hadn't spoken to Patrick for most of yesterday. He was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee from one of the mugs that hadn't been boxed up. Patrick took it in his stride and just smiled at Pete, taking a seat in Pete's lap. It was his birthday, and he wasn't happy about it.

He'd already had his present from Patrick, which was a piece of artwork from his favorite LA artist. It was already hanging in the bar. Patrick didn't get it, it was about as linear as his own thoughts, but Patrick’s brother in law had helped secure a good deal on it. Pete's face had been a fucking picture, almost crying when he saw it a few weeks back.

“I don't know what you're so miserable about. They do say life begins at forty.”

“How many times have you said that this week?” Pete muttered, but he wrapped his hands around Patrick and pressed his face into his shoulder. “You're barely in your mid twenties and now I'm hitting fucking middle age.”

“Forty isn't middle age,” Patrick insisted, running his hands through Pete's hair. “Plus you know I find you kinda hot like this. With the gray hair and everything.”

“It's only a little gray,” Pete said, touching the sides of his temple. He was kinda precious about it all. “Why are you in such a good mood?”

“I just saw Joe. He's coming to the party tonight, so I won't be completely surrounded by forty year old's.” Patrick smirked, even as Pete cast a furious expression towards him, pressing his fingers to Patrick's mouth.

“Don't be an ass,” Pete warned, but Patrick laughed him away, biting at Pete's fingers before kissing them a little more gently. “You better be on your best behavior.”

“I’m always on my best behavior… at least when it counts.” Patrick laughed at himself and then stood up, brushing his jeans off. 

They were having Pete's birthday party at Andy's gallery, and it was going to be flooded with the mis-match craziness of all of Pete's friends. Patrick still sometimes felt distant from them; easily teased for not catching their references and stupid jokes about the age gap. Patrick figured hitting twenty-five would have stopped them all, but now Pete was forty the jokes had started up even more. 

Joe hadn't arrived yet, late as always, and Patrick was stuck listening to lame jokes about Pete needing Viagra to keep up with Patrick. Patrick wished he was brave enough to tell them Pete had no trouble in that department, but he never had mastered the ability of savvy one liners. 

Patrick wandered off into Andy's office when he'd had enough of the jokes, with a drink in his hand. He remembered the first time being in here and how it still made him squirm when he found out they'd been caught on camera. 

“We have, like, a month left here and then you'll never have to put up with them again.” Patrick looked up to see Pete standing in the doorway. He looked sheepish… handsome but sheepish.

“I won't know anyone in LA,” Patrick said, starting the same conversation they'd been having since they agreed to move. He couldn't help it, not even on Pete's birthday. “Somehow that's worse than dealing with immature jokes.”

“You know the bar, Patrick. I've owned it two years already. Plus, Vicky works there now, and you like her. And it's got a rooftop area, like what you always wanted. And that's just part of it!” Pete laughed, but he put his hands on Patrick's cheeks gently. “Plus, you're gonna be the hottest fucking music tutor around. That's my favorite part. But you're gonna have a great time out there, Patrick, I promise.”

“Pinkie promise?” Patrick wiggled his finger and Pete laughed, hooking their pinkies around each other. “I'm sorry I have so much anxiety about it.”

“I do too. We'll be anxious wrecks together, like always.” They had that in common, if nothing else. Patrick held Pete close to him for a few seconds, trying to clear his mind from everything. 

With the move imminent Patrick was spending a lot of time looking back on the last five years. It hadn't been easy, trying to find what he wanted out of life. Introducing Pete to his parents, who were appalled at both the age gap and the fact Pete technically had still been married. They were kind of okay with him now, now that Patrick was an actual adult and they'd lasted a fair while. The one thing he was happy with about moving so far away was starting over, not having to rationalize their relationship to anyone else ever again. 

As it was Pete's birthday, things quickly took a slightly different turn. Patrick couldn't sulk for the entire party, waiting for Joe to finally turn up. Pete started to make out with Patrick, the two of them in Andy's office, but that hadn't been a great idea the first time around.

They ended up in a storage closet. Still full of old long-forgotten canvases, wood and paint. Patrick had gotten used to the smell of oil paints, the type that Pete used at least, and he could smell it in the small closet they were in now. It would never be a sexy smell to Patrick, but it was familiar in that cozy, safe way.

“Anything you want, you can have,” Patrick said to Pete, between kissing and trying to remember how to breathe. He was pinned against a shelf, feeling Pete all around him, wanting him even closer; inside him. 

“I know that already,” Pete smirked. It made Patrick's stomach tighten when he spoke like that. Made him feel owned in the best kind of way. He looked at Pete, past the smirk and nodded his head, moving his hands to unbutton his own pants. Pete though, caught Patrick's wrist and shook his head. “I want your mouth now.”

“I like that idea,” Patrick laughed. He moved his hand to Pete's jeans instead, black as always, and lowered himself to his knees. He kissed the fly of Pete's jeans before sliding the leather belt from the catch and unzipping them. He kissed Pete's stomach, hand palming Pete's bulge in his hand. He loved the feel and weight, so so familiar. It made his mouth wet, as he rested his mouth against the bulge and looked up at Pete for an answer.

“Put your hands behind your back, baby,” Pete said softly. His fingers played gently on the back of Patrick's neck, sending shivers down his spine. His saliva soaked through Pete's underwear as he moved his hands back, holding onto one wrist with the other hand. He waited for Pete to tug himself out and stroke himself a few times. Patrick didn't take his eyes off Pete's dick, watching it, waiting for it. Pete had made him desperate over the years, never taking much from him, not until he knew Patrick was ready for it. 

“I'm gonna make it so good,” Patrick said, licking his lips, shifting forward on his knees as Pete directed his dick into Patrick's mouth. He kept his mouth small at first, so that it stretched as Pete entered his mouth. He never shut his eyes because he liked to watch Pete; he knew the feeling was mutual. 

Patrick kept his mouth lax and his eyes wide as Pete curled a hand around the back of his head. Patrick moaned at the feeling of Pete's control over him. His slick mouth was starting to dribble, but he kept his tongue flat to the underside of Pete's cock. Patrick was hard from being on his knees, fingers bruising his own wrist behind his back. There was the general hubbub of a party happening outside the door and Pete's balls against his chin. It had him spacing out, his eyesight blurring. Having his face fucked sent him to subspace almost as quick as being tied up. 

“I'm gonna, just--” Patrick tasted Pete on his tongue and still didn't blink. He kept trying to ground himself in the moment, so that he didn't drop at the party. He never was good coming down when they weren't home in bed. He swallowed Pete's come down, and wiped at his chin when he could. He didn't want to go out there, be at a party with all of Pete's immature friends, with come drying on his face. 

“Can we stay in here forever?” Patrick asked, when Pete got down on his knees to sit next to Patrick. He moaned, of course, because he was forty and his knees were ruined by soccer. “I don't wanna be out there with people. Only in here with you.”

“We can have five more minutes.” Pete kissed the side of Patrick's face and tucked him up under his arm. Patrick was hoping they could stay here for at least ten instead.

 

Patrick did manage to eek out their time in the closet to twelve minutes, just enough time to cuddle and calm his foggy brain enough to function. He didn’t want to be the butt of any more of Pete’s dumb friend's jokes.

“When we move to LA and have to spend all night at your rooftop bar, promise you’ll get better friends?” Patrick said, as they walked out. Patrick was feeling clingy, like he always did when they fucked like that, but he played it off, by rubbing at his forehead and staring at the weird art on the wall. Dating an artist for five years hadn’t improved his ability to understand art, at least not the ones he couldn’t translate.

“I mean, Gabe’s gonna be there, so probably not,” Pete joked. They went in separate directions after that; Pete to the hub of his friends, Patrick to hover by the makeshift bar until Joe arrived. He wasn’t left waiting much longer, soon enough his goofy best-only friend showed up.

“Dude, this party blows balls,” Joe said, as if he’d had to suffer the jokes that Patrick had already. He took a plastic cup of dark beer from Patrick and they wandered outside. Joe smoked a cigarette and Patrick stood as close to him as he could without his eyes watering too hard.

“Maybe I could get Pete to buy a bar in New York too, so I could come visit you all the time?” Patrick offered. Pete was still, like, totally loaded. Selling his share back to Mikey had been the best thing he’d ever done financially.

“That ain’t a bad idea. Who else is gonna cook me badass food when I’m slowly dying from the career choice I decided on.” Joe nudged Patrick’s shoulder and only then did Patrick pretend that the watery eyes was from the smoke and not never ending feelings.

“I’m sure there are, like, a ton of miserable married couples in New York that will be super supportive of your career choice,” Patrick said to Joe, hoping it was sympathetic enough. Joe nodded like he agreed. “It’s a good job you fell for a fucking millionaire, dude. Imagine where you’d be otherwise.”

“On my way to New York probably,” Patrick joked. They laughed, and it made it more real. No more hanging out together like this. Patrick couldn’t imagine finding a friend like Joe in LA, no one knew him like Joe, not even Pete.

Patrick got drunk at Pete’s party, half the time with Joe, because both their moves were bumming them out, and then when Joe had stumbled into his cab, Patrick had finished off the remains of his drink on the floor, staring at the blurry feet. At one point, some dude came over to talk polity at him. Patrick was fairly certain it was Pete’s ex brother in law, which was kinda weird, but Patrick never said anything about it because Pete got all defensive about it the one time he bought it up.

“How is Mikey?” Patrick asked him and then shook his head until the room span even more. “Maybe don’t answer that. He was a dick. To my Pete. And to myself and I was only a kid.”

The guy laughed. “He’s in a better place, treating people a little kinder. Like, uh, your Pete.”

Patrick fell asleep, maybe when Gerard was still beside him. He didn’t know. He only woke up, still slouched against the wall when he saw Pete crouching down in front of him. He smiled and flapped his hands in Pete’s face.

“Happy birthday, old man.”

“You’re drunk.” Pete hoisted Patrick up by the wrists, and mumbled something as Patrick grumbled. “Kinda rude as it’s my birthday.”

“Had to entertain myself somehow.” Patrick put one foot in front of the other and marveled at how easy it was. “Joe and I got all sad about separating so we got drunk. And then he left. Then Gerald started talking to me. Why was he here?”

“It’s Ger _ard_ and it’s because he’s my friend, asshole.” Pete helped shuffle Patrick out of the gallery and probably into the cab. Patrick wasn’t sure, the room was kinda hazy and he was only staring down at his feet instead.

Patrick was slightly more stable as they got into the house, though it was a hard dart between boxes scattered throughout. It was all a weave and a stumble with about three stubbed toes by the time Patrick was in the bedroom.

“Remember when you taught me to drive last summer? The route to the bedroom felt a bit like that,” Patrick said. He flopped onto his back and laughed to himself. 

“I'm so glad we never have to go through that again.” Pete's voice was at the bottom of the bed, and then Patrick felt hands on his ankles, pulling his shoes off. “How is forty?”

“It's fine. Not any different to yesterday. Ask me tomorrow when I'm hungover and you’re not.” 

“One day we’ll be the same,” Patrick slurred. Pete helped him undress and then Patrick tried to focus his eyes enough to see Pete strip down. “I dunno what it is about today...whether it's the move or your birthday, but I keep thinking about the past. How we got together.”

“Oh yeah?” Pete cuddled up on the bed beside him and there wasn't anything better than that. “The good parts or the bad ones?”

“Both.” Patrick shrugged, and then rolled onto his stomach so they were facing each other. “People thought I was pathetic for taking you back.”

“No, they didn't. Most people didn't know what went down, they just knew when we got together the second time.” In Patrick's drunk state, Pete sounded a little bitter. Maybe it was wrong to bring it up on his birthday. “They don't think anything about it.”

“They think I'm too ugly for you,” Patrick said, which was generally noted when he was heavier. It was usually a laugh, an eyebrow raise and _then_ they asked about the age gap. “I don't even care about that, not really. Coz I may be uglier than you, but at least I never married anyone for money. That's, like, way more pathetic.”

“Probably.” Pete softened with a laugh, not mad. Not if the arms around Patrick was anything to go by. “And on no planet in any galaxy are you ugly. Not to me.” 

Patrick shrugged. “I just wanted you to know that you may be hotter than me, but you've done worse things. I'm just the stupid one.”

“You ain't stupid either. I mean, unless we count the fact you asked me whether phoenixes were real last week.” Pete's hands were circling lower, down past the curve of Patrick's back. Pete was due birthday sex, but he'd get it tomorrow. Patrick couldn't do anything interesting right now. 

“I didn't know. People act like they are, so maybe now they're just extinct.” Patrick shut his eyes, still aware that Pete was staring.

“They're not. I need you to know they're not and never were real. They're like magic, Trick.” Pete's hands slid up, stroking Patrick's face again. “Can't believe I was with you for five years without realizing you thought a Phoenix was a real damn thing.”

“I may be drunk, but I know you're making fun of me. It's rude. I gave you a great blow job today. And I'm moving somewhere else to be with you even though it scares me.” Just saying it out loud scared Patrick a little.

“Whatever. You're gonna be Mr. Stump the music tutor. You're gonna have the time of your fucking life. And if you really really hate it, we can think of our other options.” Patrick peeped his eyes open to stare at Pete. He knew deep down, if he whined enough, he could have Pete thinking about opening a bar up in New York, just so Patrick could be with his best friend. Patrick wouldn't ask him to, not yet, but seeing it on Pete's face was calming enough. 

“I think I'll be okay,” Patrick said. “Plus, we got other things to think about when we've settled. Like kids, because you're forty so we can't wait much longer to decide if we want them or not.”

“Forty isn't old, Patrick! Stop making me feel bad when I was being nice.” It was Pete's turn to whine. Patrick calmed him down by fumbling beneath the covers and touching his dick. Not for long, just enough so that Pete knew he was sorry. “We’ll talk about it when we've finalized everything, okay? When I've got my art to turn to and you have music to tune out with.”

“Good idea.” Patrick yawned, and then nestled his face into Pete's neck. They were both huge assholes to each other at times, but it didn't matter. Not at times like this, and anyway, Patrick would totally have sex with Pete tomorrow to cheer him up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!  
> I'll be back in a few weeks with something brand new ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, let me know what you think. :)


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